TALES 
FROM  A  DUGOUT 


TALES 
FROM  A  DUGOUT 


BY 

ARTHUR  GUY  EMPEY 

Author  of  "OVER  THE  TOP,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1918 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
THE  CENTUBY  Co. 


Published,  October,  1918 


I  DEDICATE    THIS   BOOK 
TO   THE 

"ARMY  or  THE  PEOPLE  WHO  STAY  AT  HOME": 

the    averaged,   the   women,    the   physically   unfit 

and  the  children.     These  are  the  ones  to  be 

pitied,  the  ones  who  suffer  most,  because 

their  hearts  are  on  the  battlefields 

of  France,  although  their  bodies 

must  stay  at  home. 


1135304 


FOREWORD 

Picture  a  dugout  in  one  of  the  front  line 
trenches  of  France,  damp  and  evil  smelling, 
hardly  deep  enough  to  protect  the  inmates  from 
a  three-inch  shell-burst.  This  hole  in  the 
ground  will  comfortably  house  four  soldiers. 
Put  seven  of  them  with  full  equipment  and 
a  machine  gun  in  it,  and  what  results?  I 
dare  say  in  civilian  life  there  would  be  only  one 
outcome— TROUBLE.  Well,  in  the  army 
on  the  Western  Front,  this  situation  spells 
GOOD  FELLOWSHIP. 

If  it  were  only  possible  for  a  giant  dicto 
graph  to  be  invented,  the  transmitter  being 
placed  in  any  dugout  of  the  American  Army  in 
France,  while  at  the  receiver,  across  the  Atlan 
tic,  the  American  Public  "listened  in,"  many 
a  heartache  would  disappear,  worry  for  the 
"boys  at  the  front"  would  more  or  less  vanish 


Vll 


viii  FOREWORD 

in  mist.  If  the  mothers,  fathers,  wives,  sweet 
hearts,  sisters  and  friends,  could  only  hear  these 
conversations,  their  hearts  would  be  filled  with 
joy  and  pride  for  the  fighting  men  of  America. 
Of  course,  at  times,  few  and  far  between,  they 
would  be  slightly  shocked,  as  most  eaves 
droppers  are,  but  on  the  whole,  they  would 
listen  to  wonderful  sentiment,  clean  and  whole 
some  Americanism. 

It  has  been  my  misfortune  not  to  have  oc 
cupied  an  American  dugout  as  yet,  but  I  have 
crowded  into  one  with  the  Britisher,  with  good 
old  Tommy  Atkins.  We  are  of  the  same  fam 
ily,  the  same  blood  runs  through  our  veins,  so 
Tommy's  ideas  and  conversations  are  identical 
with  those  of  our  brave  American  boys. 
Therefore,  I  hope  that  in  a  way  these  Tales 
from  a  Dugout  will  help  fill  the  void  of  the 
absent  dictograph. 

It  is  only  a  matter  of  time  before  our  boys 
and  our  Allies,  God  bless  them  all,  will  vic 
toriously  return  to  "Blighty,"  and  be  received 
in  the  arms  of  their  waiting  dear  ones. 


PREAMBLE 

There  were  seven  of  them  composing  the 
crew  of  Gun  No.  2,  of  the th  Brigade  Ma 
chine  Gun  Company.  Their  gun  was  the 
Vickers,  light,  .303,  watercooled. 

They  were  nicknamed  as  follows : 

Curly,  a  Scotchman.  Dubbed  Curly  on  ac 
count  of  a  cute  little  Delia  Fox  curl.  He 
gave  more  attention  to  this  curl  than  to  his 
rifle.  Many  girls  wrote  to  him,  and  he  wrote 
to  many  girls. 

Happy,  a  Londoner.  He  earned  his  title 
from  his  happy  disposition.  He  helped  Curly 
with  his  correspondence. 

Hungry.  His  nickname  needs  no  explana 
tion.  He  was.  Once  Mr.  Hoover  dined  with 
him,  hence  his  food  conservation  idea. 
Hungry  hailed  from  London. 

Ikey.     He  was.     Came  from  the  East  Side, 


x  PREAMBLE 

London.  Brave  as  a  lion,  and  to  our  discom 
fort,  musically  inclined. 

Dick.  Irish,  from  Dublin.  Always  ready. 
Greatly  admired  the  Kaiser  because  he  started 
such  a  glorious  scrap. 

Sailor  Bill.  A  Welshman.  He  had  had  a 
"cruise"  in  the  Navy,  and  wanted  everybody 
to  know  it.  They  did.  He  was  detailed  with 
the  gun's  crew  to  carry  "ammo"  (ammunition) . 

Yank.  Got  his  handle  because  he  was 
American.  He  hailed  from  the  "Big  Town" 
behind  the  Statue  of  Liberty,  and  was  proud 
of  it,  too.  Committed  a  "technical  error"  and 
got  mixed  up  in  the  Great  Fight. 

They  were  soldiers  of  the  King,  and  their 
further  personal  history  does  not  matter.  It 
will  suffice  to  say  that  they  were  fighting  in 
the  British  Army  for  Justice,  Democracy  and 
Liberty. 

Scene  of  action:     "Somewhere  in  France." 
Time:     A  few  months  after  the  sinking  of  the 
Lusitania. 


PREAMBLE  xi 

After  "stand  down"  had  been  passed  along 
the  fire  trench,  they  would  repair  to  their  two- 
by-four  dugout,  and  it  was  their  custom  to 
while  away  the  time  by  taking  turns  at  story 
telling.  Some  of  these  were  personal  experi 
ences,  while  others  were  told  to  them  by  their 
mates,  the  majority  of  whom,  by  this  time,  have 
either  "gone  West,"  or  reached  that  heaven  of 
the  British  soldier— "Blighty." 


"THROUGH  THE  BIG  GUNS'  THUNDER" 

Over  the  top  and  give  them  hell, 
Up  the  ladders  and  through  the  wire. 

Out  in  front,  go  across  with  a  yell, 

With  bullets  cracking  from  rapid  fire. 

Then  the  death  song  of  a  ricochet, 

A  curse  or  moan  as  your  pal  goes  under, 

You  cannot  stop,  you  must  not  stay — 
It 's  on — on — thro'  the  big  guns'  thunder. 

It  hurts  to  see  him  torn  apart, 

For  you  've  shared  his  grub  on  "sentry  go," 
And  listened  to  tales  of  his  sweetheart, 

In  dugouts  by  the  candles'  glow. 

But  war  is  war,  the  trench  must  be  taken, 
Whether  your  life's  blood  pays  the  cost. 

If  the  wounded  die  in  holes,  forsaken, 

It 's  part  of  the  game ;  they  played,  and — lost. 

If  you  get  hit  and  the  blood  runs  out, 
Don't  cry  and  whimper  from  the  ground, 

But  FACE  that  trench,  don't  turn  about, 
Cheer,  tho'  it 's  from  the  Great  Beyond ! 

When  you  reach  their  trench,  then  use  the  steel, 

Sink  it  deep  into  Fritz's  hide, 
Send  it  home,  so  that  he  will  feel, 

How  the  women  and  children  of  Belgium  died. 

A.  G.  E. 


Facsimile  of  letter  written  by  the  Author,  when  he  went  over  the  top  for 
the  first  time. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 
JlM SOLDIER  OF  THE  KlNG 11 

THE  PACIFIST 29 

PRIVATE  GINGER 45 

THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL   .      .      .      .      .      .61 

CHRISTMAS  IN  A  DUGOUT 87 

A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES 105 

WINNING  A  D.  C.  M 135 

THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS  UNDER  FIRE  .      .      .      .157 
"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?"      .      .      .      .      .   189 

ROUNDING  UP  SPIES 213 

"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE" 235 


TALES 
FROM  A  DUGOUT 


TALES 
FROM  A  DUGOUT 

IT  was  a  cold  and  rainy  afternoon.  The 
gun's  crew  were  huddled  together  in  their 
dugout  in  the  front  line  trench,  about  three 
hundred  yards  from  the  German  lines. 

If  you  should  ask  a  Tommy  Atkins  "What 
is  a  dugout?"  he  would  look  at  you  in  astonish 
ment,  and  pitying  you  for  your  apparent  lack 
of  education,  would  answer,  "What 's  a  dug 
out?  Why  a  dugout  is  a  blinkin' — well,  a 
dugout 's  a  dugout." 

This  particular  dugout  was  a  hole  in  the 
ground.  It  was  used  to  shelter  the  men  in  the 
trenches  from  shell  fire.  They  also  slept  in 
it,  or  tried  to.  From  their  point  of  view,  its 
main  use  was  to  drain  the  trenches  of  muddy 
water,  and  give  them  rheumatism.  It  also 


4        TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

made  a  good  hotel  for  rats.  These  guests 
looked  upon  them  as  intruders,  and  complained 
that  they  overcrowded  the  place.  Occasionally 
the  crew  gave  in  to  the  rats,  and  took  a  turn  in 
the  trench  to  rest  themselves. 

The  dugout  was  about  eight  feet  deep,  or, 
at  least  there  were  eight  wooden  steps  leading 
down  to  it.  The  ceiling  and  walls  were  braced 
by  heavy,  square-cut  timbers.  Over  the  tim 
bers,  in  the  ceiling,  sheets  of  corrugated  iron 
were  spread  to  keep  the  wet  earth  from  fall 
ing.  The  entrance  was  heavily  sandbagged 
and  very  narrow,  there  being  only  room  for 
one  person  to  leave  or  enter  at  a  time.  The 
ceiling  was  five  feet  high,  and  the  floor  space 
was  eight  feet  by  six.  Through  the  ceiling  a 
six-inch  square  air-shaft  was  cut.  They  used 
to  take  turns  sleeping  under  this  in  wet 
weather. 

The  timbers  bracing  the  walls  were  driven 
full  of  nails  to  hang  equipment  on.  After 
ammunition,  belt-filling  machine,  rations, 
equipment,  rifles,  machine-gun,  etc.,  had  been 


TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT         5 

stowed  away,  there  was  not  much  space  for 
seven  men  to  live  in,  not  forgetting  the  rats. 

It  was  very  dark  in  the  dugout,  and  as  they 
were  only  issued  a  candle  and  a  half  every 
twenty-four  hours,  they  had  to  economize  on 
light.  Woe  betide  the  last  man  out  who  left 
the  candle  burning! 

In  this  hotel  of  theirs,  they  used  to  sit 
around  the  lonely  candle,  and,  through  a 
thick  haze  of  tobacco  smoke,  recounted  differ 
ent  experiences  at  various  points  of  the  line 
where  they  had  been,  or  spin  yarns  about  home. 
At  othsr  times  they  'd  sit  for  an  hour  or  more 
without  saying  a  word,  listening  to  a  German 
over  in  the  enemy's  front  trench  playing  a 
cornet.  My,  how  that  Boche  could  play! 
Just  to  make  them  hate  the  war,  he'd  play 
"Sewanee  River,"  "Home,  Sweet  Home,"  or 
"Over  the  Waves."  During  his  recital,  the 
trenches  were  strangely  quiet.  Never  a  shot 
from  either  side. 

Sometimes,  when  he  had  finished,  Ikey  would 
go  into  the  trench  and  play  on  his  harmonica. 


6        TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

As  soon  as  the  crew  saw  that  harmonica  come 
out,  it  was  a  case  of  "Duck  down  low,"  for 
the  Germans  would  be  sure,  when  the  first 
strains  reached  them,  to  send  over  "Five  rounds 
rapid."  That  harmonica  was  hated  by  both 
sides.  More  than  once  Sailor  Bill  chucked 
one  over  the  top,  but  Ikey  would  sit  down  and 
write  a  letter,  and  in  about  ten  days'  time 
would  receive  through  the  post  a  little  oblong 
package,  and  then  the  crew  knew  that  they 
were  in  for  some  more  "Five  rounds  rapid." 
They  did  n't  blame  the  Germans. 

Still,  that  harmonica  had  its  uses.  Often 
they  would  get  downhearted  and  fed  up  with 
the  war,  and  "grouse"  at  everything  in  general. 
Then  Ikey  would  reach  in  his  pocket,  and  out 
would  come  that  instrument  of  torture.  The 
rest  then  realized  there  were  worse  things  than 
war,  and  cheered  up  accordingly. 

On  this  particular  rainy  afternoon  the  gun's 
crew  were  in  a  talkative  mood.  Perhaps  it 
was  due  to  the  fact  that  Curly  had  made  his 
"Tommy's  cooker"  do  what  it  was  supposed 


TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT        7 

to  do — make  water  boil  in  an  hour  and  a  half. 
A  "Tommy's  cooker"  is  a  spirit  stove,  which  is 
very  widely  advertised  as  a  suitable  gift  to  the 
men  in  the  trenches.  Many  are  sent  out,  and 
many  are  thrown  away. 

Anyway,  the  "cooker"  lived  up  to  its  reputa 
tion  for  once,  though  a  little  behind  its  adver 
tised  schedule  in  making  water  boil.  Curly 
passed  around  the  result  of  his  efforts  in  the 
form  of  an  ammunition  tin  half  full  of  fairly 
good  tea.  Each  took  a  good  swig,  lighted  a 
Woodbine  cigarette, — they  had  "come  up"  with 
the  rations  the  night  before — and  settled  back 
against  the  damp  earthen  walls  of  the  dugout 
to  listen. 

It  was  Dick's  turn  for  a  story.  He  cleared 
his  throat  two  or  three  times  and  said — nothing. 
A  chorus  of  "Come  on,  let 's  have  it,"  from 
the  rest  of  the  crew  did  not  help  matters.  In 
desperation  Dick  said,  "I  guess  you  fellows  '11 
have  to  excuse  me  this  time,  I  can't  seem  to 
remember  a  thing." 

"Yank"  helped  him  out  with,  "Say,  Dick, 


8        TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

tell  us  about  Jim,  the  platoon  mascot  you  used 
to  have." 

"Sailor  Bill  or  Hungry  could  tell  it  better. 
Even  Ikey  knows  it,"  replied  Dick. 

But  after  much  coaxing  from  Happy,  Curly 
and  Yank,  Dick  started  in. 


JIM— SOLDIER  OF  THE  KING 
As  TOLD  BY  DICK 


JIM— SOLDIER  OF  THE  KING 

OUR  company  had  just  arrived  at  rest 
billets,  after  a  hard  eighteen  kilo  march 
from  the  front  line  sector. 

"The  stable  we  had  to  sleep  in  was  an  old, 
ramshackle  affair,  absolutely  over-run  with 
rats.  Great,  big,  black  fellows,  who  used  to 
chew  up  our  leather  equipment,  eat  our  ra 
tions,  and  run  over  our  bodies  at  night.  Ger 
man  gas  had  no  effect  on  these  rodents ;  in  fact, 
they  seemed  to  thrive  on  it. 

"The  floor  space  would  comfortably  accom 
modate  about  twenty  men  lying  down,  but 
when  thirty-three,  including  equipment,  were 
crowded  into  it,  it  was  nearly  unbearable. 

"The  roof  and  walls  were  full  of  shell-holes. 
When  it  rained,  a  constant  drip,  drip,  drip  was 
in  order.  We  were  so  crowded  that  if  a  fel 
low  was  unlucky  enough  (and  nearly  all  of 

11 


12      TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

us  in  this  instance  were  unlucky)  to  sleep  un 
der  a  hole,  he  had  to  grin  and  bear  it.  It  was 
like  sleeping  beneath  a  shower  bath. 

"At  one  end  of  the  billet,  with  a  ladder  lead 
ing  up  to  it,  was  a  sort  of  grain  bin,  with  a  door 
in  it.  This  place  was  the  headquarters  of 
our  guests,  the  rats.  Many  a  stormy  cabinet 
meeting  was  held  there  by  them.  Many  a 
boot  was  thrown  at  it  during  the  night  to  let 
them  know  that  Tommy  Atkins  objected  to  the 
matter  under  discussion.  Sometimes  one  of 
these  missiles  would  ricochet  and  land  on  the 
upturned  countenance  of  a  snoring  Tommy, 
and  for  about  half  an  hour  even  the  rats  would 
pause  in  admiration  of  his  flow  of  language. 

"On  the  night  in  question  we  flopped  down 
in  our  wet  clothes  and  were  soon  asleep.  As 
was  usual,  our  gun's  crew  were  together. 

"The  last  time  we  had  rested  in  this  par 
ticular  village,  it  was  inhabited  by  civilians. 
Now  it  was  deserted.  An  order  had  been  is 
sued  two  days  previous  to  our  return  that  all 
civilians  should  move  farther  behind  the  line. 


JIM— SOLDIER  OF  THE  KING     13 

"  I  had  been  asleep  about  two  hours  when  I 
was  awakened  by  Sailor  Bill  shaking  me  by 
the  shoulder.  He  was  trembling  like  a  leaf, 
and  whispered  to  me : 

'Wake  up,  Dick,  this  ship 's  'aunted. 
There  's  some  one  aloft  who  's  been  moanin' 
for  the  last  hour.  Sounds  like  the  wind  in  the 
riggin'.  I  ain't  scared  of  'umans  or  Germans, 
but  when  it  comes  to  messin'  in  with  spirits 
it 's  time  for  me  to  go  below.  Lend  your  ear 
an'  cast  your  deadlights  on  that  grain  locker, 
and  listen.' 

"I  listened  sleepily  for  a  minute  or  so,  but 
could  hear  nothing.  Coming  to  the  conclu 
sion  that  Sailor  Bill  was  dreaming  things,  I 
was  again  soon  asleep. 

"Perhaps  fifteen  minutes  had  elapsed  when 
I  was  rudely  awakened. 

"  'Dick,  for  God's  sake,  come  aboard  and 
listen !' 

"I  listened,  and  sure  enough,  right  out  of 
that  grain  bin  overhead  came  a  moaning  and 
whimpering,  and  then  a  scratching  against  the 


14       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

door.  My  hair  stood  on  end.  Blended  with 
the  drip,  drip  of  the  rain,  and  the  occasional 
scurrying  of  a  rat  overhead,  that  noise  had  a 
supernatural  sound.  I  was  really  frightened; 
perhaps  my  nerves  were  a  trifle  unstrung  from 
our  recent  tour  in  the  trenches. 

"I  awakened  Ikey,  while  Sailor  Bill  roused 
Hungry.  Hungry's  first  words  were,  'What 's 
the  matter,  breakfast  ready?' 

"In  as  few  words  as  possible,  we  told  them 
what  had  happened.  I  lighted  a  candle  and 
their  faces  appeared  as  white  as  chalk.  Just 
then  the  whimpering  started  again,  and  we 
were  frozen  with  terror.  The  tension  was 
relieved  by  Ikey's  voice: 

"  'H'l  admit  h'l  'm  afraid  of  ghosts,  but  that 
sounds  like  a  dog  to  me.  Who  's  goin'  up  the 
ladder  to  investigate  ?' 

"No  one  volunteered. 

"I  had  an  old  deck  of  cards  in  my  pocket. 
Taking  them  out,  I  suggested  cutting,  the  low 
man  to  go  up  the  ladder.  They  agreed.  I 
was  the  last  to  cut.  I  got  the  ace  of  clubs. 


JIM— SOLDIER  OF  THE  KING     15 

Sailor  Bill  was  stuck  with  the  five  of  diamonds. 
Upon  this,  he  insisted  that  it  should  be  the  best 
two  out  of  three  cuts,  but  we  overruled  him, 
and  he  was  unanimously  elected  for  the  job. 

"With  a  'So  long,  mates,  I  'm  goin'  aloft,' 
he  started  toward  the  ladder,  with  the  candle 
in  his  hand,  stumbling  over  the  sleeping  forms 
of  many.  Sundry  grunts,  moans,  and  curses 
followed  in  his  wake. 

"As  soon  as  he  started  to  ascend  the  ladder, 
a  'tap-tap-tap'  could  be  heard  from  the  grain 
bin.  We  waited  in  fear  and  trembling  the 
result  of  his  mission.  Hungry  was  encourag 
ing  him  with,  'Cheero,  mate,  the  worst  is  yet 
to  come.' 

"After  many  pauses,  Sailor  Bill  reached 
the  top  of  the  ladder  and  opened  the  door. 
We  listened  with  bated  breath.  Then  he 
shouted : 

"  'Blast  my  deadlights,  if  it  hain't  a  poor 
dog!  Come  h'longside,  myte,  you  're  h'on  a 
lee  shore,  and  in  a  sorry  plight.' 

"Oh,  what  a  relief  those  words  were  to  us. 


16       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"With  the  candle  in  one  hand  and  a  dark  ob 
ject  under  his  arm,  Sailor  Bill  returned  and  de 
posited  in  our  midst  the  sorriest-looking  speci 
men  of  a  cur  dog  you  ever  set  eyes  on.  It  was 
so  weak  it  couldn't  stand.  But  that  look  in 
its  eyes — just  gratitude,  plain  gratitude.  Its 
stump  of  a  tail  was  pounding  against  my  mess 
tin,  and  sounded  just  like  a  message  in  the 
Morse  code.  Ikey  swore  that  it  was  sending 

s.  o.  s. 

"We  were  like  a  lot  of  school  children,  every 
one  wanting  to  help,  and  making  suggestions 
at  the  same  time.  Hungry  suggested  giving  it 
something  to  eat,  while  Ikey  wanted  to  play 
on  his  infernal  Jew's  harp,  claiming  it  was  a 
musical  dog.  Hungry's  suggestion  met  our 
approval,  and  there  was  a  general  scramble  for 
haversacks.  All  we  could  muster  was  some 
hard  bread  and  a  big  piece  of  cheese. 

"His  nibs  would  n't  eat  bread,  and  also  re 
fused  the  cheese,  but  not  before  sniffing  at  it 
for  a  couple  of  minutes.  I  was  going  to  throw 
the  cheese  away,  but  Hungry  said  he  would 


JIM— SOLDIER  OF  THE  KING     17 

take  it.  I  gave  it  to  him.  I  suppose  he  ate 
it. 

"We  were  in  an  awful  stew.  It  was  evident 
that  the  dog  was  starving  and  in  a  very  weak 
condition.  Its  coat  was  lacerated  all  over, 
probably  from  the  bites  of  rats.  That  stump 
of  a  tail  kept  sending  S.  O.  S.  against  my  mess 
tin.  Every  tap  went  straight  to  our  hearts. 
We  would  get  something  to  eat  for  that  mutt 
if  we  were  shot  for  it. 

"Sailor  Bill  volunteered  to  burglarize  the 
quartermaster's  stores  for  a  tin  of  unsweetened 
condensed  milk,  and  left  on  his  perilous  ven 
ture.  He  was  gone  about  twenty  minutes. 
During  his  absence,  with  the  help  of  a  bandage 
and  a  capsule  of  iodine,  we  cleansed  the  wounds 
made  by  the  rats.  I  have  bandaged  many  a 
wounded  Tommy,  but  never  received  the 
amount  of  thanks  that  that  dog  gave  with  its 
eyes. 

"Then  the  billet  door  opened  and  Sailor  Bill 
appeared.  He  looked  like  the  wreck  of  the 
Hesperus,  uniform  torn,  covered  with  dirt  and 


18       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

flour,  and  with  a  beautiful  black  eye,  but  he 
was  smiling  and  in  his  hand  he  carried  the 
precious  tin  of  milk. 

"We  asked  no  questions,  but  opened  the 
tin.  Just  as  we  were  going  to  pour  it  out, 
Hungry  butted  in  and  said  it  should  be  mixed 
with  water;  he  ought  to  know,  because  his 
sister  back  in  Blighty  had  a  baby,  and  she  al 
ways  mixed  water  with  its  milk.  We  could 
not  dispute  this  authority,  so  water  was  de 
manded.  We  would  not  use  the  water  in  our 
water  bottles,  because  Hungry  said  it  was  not 
fresh  enough  for  our  new  mate.  Hungry 
volunteered  to  get  some  from  the  well — that  is, 
if  we  would  promise  not  to  feed  his  royal  high 
ness  until  he  returned.  We  promised,  because 
he  had  proved  that  he  was  an  authority  on  the 
feeding  of  babies.  By  this  time  the  rest  of 
the  section  were  awake  and  were  crowding 
around  us,  asking  numerous  questions,  and 
admiring  our  newly  found  friend.  Sailor  Bill, 
during  Hungry's  absence,  took  the  opportunity 
to  tell  of  his  adventures  while  in  quest  of 


JIM— SOLDIER  OF  THE  KING     19 

the  milk.  His  story  was  something  like  this: 
'  'H'l  'ad  a  fair  wind,  an'  the  passage  was 
good  until  h'l  cyme  alongside  the  quarter 
master's  shack.  Then  the  sea  got  rough. 
When  h'l  got  aboard,  h'l  could  'ear  the  wind 
blowin'  through  the  riggin'  of  the  supercargo 
(Quartermaster- Sergeant  snoring)  so  h'l  was 
safe.  H'l  set  my  course  due  north  to  the 
ration  'old,  an'  got  my  grapplin'  irons  on  a 
cask  o'  milk,  an'  cyme  about  h'on  a  port  tack 
for  my  homeward  bound  passage.  But  some- 
thin'  was  h'amiss  with  my  wheel.  H'l  ran 
nose  h'on  into  'im,  caught  'im  on  the  r'il,  h'amid- 
ships.  Then  it  was  repel  boarders,  an'  it 
started  to  blow  big  guns.  'Is  first  shot  put 
h'out  my  starboard  light,  an'  I  keeled  over. 
H'l  was  in  the  trough  o'  the  sea,  but  soon 
righted,  an'  then  h'it  was  h'a  stern  chyse" 
(chase)  "with  me  in  the  lead.  Gettin'  h'into 
the  h'open  sea,  h'l  myde  h'a  starboard  tack 
an'  hove  in  this  cove  with  the  milk  safely  in 
tow.' 

"Most  of  us  did  n't  know  what  he  was  talk- 


20      TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

ing  about,  but  surmised  that  he  had  gotten 
into  a  mix-up  with  the  Quartermaster-Ser 
geant.  This  surmise  proved  correct. 

"Just  as  Sailor  Bill  finished  his  narration, 
a  loud  splash  was  heard,  and  Hungry's  voice 
came  to  us  It  sounded  very  far  off :  'Help, 
I  'm  in  the  well !  Hurry  up,  I  can't  swim !' 
Then  a  few  unintelligible  words  intermixed 
with  blub !  blub !  and  no  more. 

"We  ran  to  the  well,  and  way  down  we  could 
hear  an  awful  splashing.  Sailor  Bill  yelled 
down,  'Look  h'out  below ;  stand  from  h'under : 
bucket  comin' !'  With  that  he  loosed  the  wind 
lass.  In  a  few  seconds  a  sputtering  voice  from 
the  depths  yelled  to  us,  'Haul  away!' 

"It  was  hard  work,  hauling  him  up.  We 
had  raised  him  about  ten  feet  from  the  water, 
when  the  handle  of  the  windlass  got  loose  from 
our  grip,  and  down  went  the  bucket  and  Hun 
gry.  A  loud  splash  came  to  us,  and,  grabbing 
the  handle  again,  we  worked  like  navvies.  A 
volley  of  curses  came  from  that  well  which 
would  have  shocked  Old  Nick  himself. 


JIM— SOLDIER  OF  THE  KING     21 

"When  we  got  Hungry  safely  out,  he  was  a 
sight  worth  seeing.  He  did  n't  even  notice  us. 
Never  said  a  word,  just  filled  his  water  bottle 
from  the  water  in  the  bucket,  and  went  back 
to  the  billet.  We  followed.  The  mutt  was 
still  sending  'S.  O.  S.'  with  his  tail  on  my  mess 
tin. 

"Hungry,  though  dripping  wet,  silently 
fixed  up  the  milk  for  the  dog.  In  appetite, 
the  canine  was  a  close  second  to  him.  After 
lapping  up  all  he  could  hold,  our  mascot  closed 
his  eyes  and  his  tail  ceased  wagging.  Sailor 
Bill  took  a  dry  flannel  shirt  from  his  pack, 
wrapped  the  dog  in  it,  and  informed  us : 

*  'Me  an'  my  myte  are  goin'  below,  so  the 
rest  of  you  lubbers  batten  down  'atches  an' 
turn  in.' 

"We  all  wanted  the  honor  of  sleeping  with 
the  dog,  but  did  not  dispute  Sailor  Bill's  right 
to  the  privilege.  By  this  time  the  bunch  were 
pretty  sleepy  and  tired,  and  turned  in  with 
out  much  coaxing,  as  it  was  pretty  near  day 
break. 


22       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"Next  day  we  figured  out  that  perhaps  one 
of  the  French  kiddies  had  put  the  dog  in  the 
grain  bin,  and,  in  the  excitement  of  packing  up 
and  leaving,  had  forgotten  he  was  there. 

"Sailor  Bill  was  given  the  right  to  christen 
our  new  mate.  He  called  him  Jim.  In  a 
couple  of  days  Jim  came  around  all  right,  and 
got  very  frisky.  Every  man  in  the  section 
loved  that  dog. 

"Sailor  Bill  was  put  on  the  crime  sheet  for 
his  mix-up  with  the  Quartermaster- Sergeant, 
and  got  seven  days  field  punishment  No.  1. 
During  Sailor  Bill's  two-hour  periods  tied  to 
a  wheel,  Jim  sat  at  his  feet,  and  no  matter  how 
much  we  coaxed  him  with  choice  morsels  of 
food,  he  would  not  leave  until  Sailor  Bill  was 
untied.  When  Bill  was  loosed,  Jim  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  him — just  walked  away 
in  contempt.  Jim  respected  the  king's  regula 
tions — had  no  use  for  defaulters. 

"At  a  special  meeting  held  by  the  section, 
Jim  had  the  oath  of  allegiance  read  to  him. 
He  barked  his  consent,  so  we  solemnly  swore 


JIM— SOLDIER  OF  THE  KING    23 

him  in  as  a  soldier  of  the  Imperial  Army,  fight 
ing  for  king  and  country.  Jim  made  a  better 
soldier  than  any  one  of  us,  and  died  for  his 
king  and  country.  Died  without  a  whimper  of 
complaint. 

"From  the  village  we  made  several  trips  to 
the  trenches;  each  time  Jim  accompanied  us. 
The  first  time  under  fire  he  put  the  stump  of 
his  tail  between  his  legs,  but  stuck  to  his  post. 
When  'carrying  in,'  if  we  neglected  to  give 
Jim  something  to  carry,  he  would  make  such 
a  noise  barking  that  we  soon  fixed  him  up. 

"Each  day  Jim  would  pick  out  a  different 
man  of  the  section  to  follow.  He  would  stick 
to  this  man,  eating  and  sleeping  with  him,  un 
til  the  next  day,  and  then  it  would  be  some 
one's  else  turn.  When  a  man  had  Jim  with 
him,  it  seemed  as  if  his  life  was  charmed.  No 
matter  what  he  went  through,  he  would  come 
out  safely.  We  looked  upon  Jim  as  a  good- 
luck  sign,  and,  believe  me,  he  was. 

"Whenever  it  came  Ikey's  turn  for  Jim's 
company,  he  was  overjoyed,  because  Jim  would 


24       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

sit  in  dignified  silence,  listening  to  the  jew's- 
harp.  Ikey  claimed  that  Jim  had  a  soul  for 
music,  which  was  more  than  he  would  say  for 
the  rest  of  us. 

"Once,  at  daybreak,  we  had  to  go  over  the 
top  in  an  attack.  A  man  in  the  section  named 
Dalton  was  selected  by  Jim  as  his  mate  in  this 
affair.  The  gun's  crew  were  to  stay  in  the 
trench  for  the  second  wave.  Dalton  was  very 
merry  and  had  n't  the  least  fear  of  misgiving 
as  to  his  safety,  because  Jim  would  be  with 
him  through  it  all. 

"In  the  attack,  Dalton,  closely  followed  by 
Jim,  had  gotten  about  seventy  yards  into  No 
Man's  Land,  when  Jim  was  hit  in  the  stomach 
by  a  bullet.  Poor  old  Jim  toppled  over  and 
lay  still.  Dalton  turned  around,  and,  just 
as  he  did  so,  we  saw  him  throw  up  his  hands 
and  fall  face  forward. 

"Ikey,  who  was  No.  3,  on  our  gun,  seeing 
Jim  fall,  scrambled  over  the  parapet,  and, 
through  that  rain  of  shells  and  bullets,  raced 
to  where  Jim  was,  picked  him  up,  and,  tucking 


JIM— SOLDIER  OF  THE  KING     25 

him  under  his  arm,  returned  to  our  trench  in 
safety.  If  he  had  gone  to  rescue  a  wounded 
man  in  this  way,  he  would  have  no  doubt  been 
awarded  the  Victoria  Cross.  But  he  only 
brought  in  poor  bleeding,  dying  Jim." 

"At  this  point,  Ikey  got  very  red  in  the  face 
and  left  the  dugout.  Dick,  with  a  wink  at  us, 
went  on  with  the  story. 

"Ikey  laid  him  on  the  firestep  alongside  of 
our  gun,  but  we  could  not  attend  to  him,  be 
cause  we  had  important  work  to  do.  So  he 
died  like  a  soldier,  without  a  look  of  reproach 
for  our  apparently  heartless  treatment.  Just 
watched  our  every  movement  until  his  lights 
burned  out.  After  the  attack,  what  was  left 
of  our  section  gathered  around  Jim's  blood 
stained  body.  There  was  n't  a  dry  eye  in  the 
crowd. 

"Next  day  we  wrapped  him  in  a  small  Union 
Jack  belonging  to  Sailor  Bill,  and  laid  him  to 
rest,  a  soldier  of  the  king. 

"We  put  a  little  wooden  cross  over  his  grave 
-  which  read: 


PRIVATE  JIM 

MACHINE-GUN  SECTION  NO.  1, 
KILLED  IN  ACTION 

June  10,  1915. 
A  DOG  WITH  A  MAN'S  HEART. 


When  Dick  had  finished,  there  was  silence 
in  the  dugout.  Then  Sailor  Bill  spoke  up: 
"It 's  funny,  h'everytime  h'l  'ear  that  story 
h'l  learn  somethin*  new  h'about  myself." 

Dick  winked  at  the  rest. 


THE  PACIFIST 

'TT  THAT  do  I  think  of  a  blinkin'  paci- 
\  \     fist?"  asked  Ikey  from  a  corner  of 
the  dugout. 

"Well,  what  with  this  bloomin'  war  on,  an' 
blokes  goin'  West  by  the  thousands,  a  pacifist 
or  conscientious  objector,  in  my  w'y  o'  thinkin', 
is  one  o'  two  things,  'e  's  either  a  blinkin'  coward 
or  a  bloody  pro-German.  But  it 's  funny  the 
w'y  some  o'  them  blighters,  with  their  swankin' 
West  h'End  h'ideas  back  in  Blighty,  changes 
their  minds  when  they  gets  out  'ere  in  the  mud, 
an'  gets  their  first  glimpse  o'  a  wooden  cross. 
It  sort  o'  sets  'em  a-thinkin',  I  reckon.  It 's 
either  up  against  a  wall  in  front  o'  a  firin'  squad 
for  desertin'  under  fire,  or  else  they  win  a 
blinkin'  V.  C.  for  some  brave  stunt.  But  gen 
erally  they  gets  a  'Rise  if  Possible'  "  (R.  I.  P., 
Rest  in  Peace)  "sign  over  their  nappers. 

29 


30       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"A  strange  thing  it  is,  but  true,  those  blokes 
never  go  through  the  trenches  in  an  ordinary 
w'y  like  we  fellows  do,  it 's  a  case  o'  extremes. 
No  'in  between  stuff'  for  them. 

"Next  time  you  're  on  a  burial  party,  at  the 
syme  time  'opin'  that  it 's  not  me  you  're  1'yin* 
aw'y,  tyke  a  look  at  the  third  cross  from  the 
left  in  the  fourth  row  as  you  enter  that  ceme 
tery  back  o'  that  old  caved  in  R.  E."  (Royal 
Engineers)  "dugout.  You  know  the  one  by 
the  road.  Well,  under  that  cross,  rests  a  bloke, 
who  back  in  Blighty  professed  to  be  a  pacifist, 
or  a  conscientious  objector, — to  me  there  's  no 
difference  in  the  titles. 

"When  the  war  started,  'e  would  n't  blinkin' 
well  volunteer,  not  likely;  that  bloke  was  for 
stayin'  at  'ome.  If  they  wanted  'im  to  go  out 
there  an'  fight,  well,  they  'ad  to  bloody  well 
come  an'  fetch  'im.  They  fetched  'im  all  right, 
conscripted  'im.  Then  'e  ups  an'  refuses  to 
fight.  Said  it  was  against  'is  principles,  so 
they  stuck  'im  in  the  N.  C.  C."  (Non-combatant 
Corps)  "an'  sent  'im  out  'ere,  'anded  'im  a  pick 


THE  PACIFIST  31 

an'  shovel,  an'  put  'im  to  repairin'  roads  an' 
diggin'  gryves.  It  didn't  tyke  long  before 
'e  were  properly  fed  up  with  'is  job,  so  'e  threw 
down  the  pick  an'  shovel,  an'  grabbed  a  rifle  an' 
b'yonet.  Oh,  yes,  'e  clicked  it  all  right,  went 
West,  too.  In  fact,  'e  was  buried  in  one  o'  the 
gryves  'e  'elped  to  dig.  H'l  suppose  some  o' 
those  college  officers  called  it  the  'irony  o' 
fyte,'  or  some  other  blinkin'  'igh  soundin' 
phryse"  (phrase),  "but  we  knows,  don't  we, 
that  it  were  only  common  ordinary  luck,  'cause 
it 's  1'id  down  that  if  you  're  goin'  to  get  it, 
you  '11  get  it,  no  matter  if  you  're  a  gentleman's 
son  or  a  bloomin'  chimney-sweep. 

"This  blighter  h'l  'm  a-talkin'  about,  never 
mind  'is  nyme,  you  '11  read  it  on  the  cross, 
was  in  my  platoon  when  h'l  was  in  *C'  Com 
pany,  an'  'e  used  to  give  me  the  proper  pip 
with  'is  arguments  against  fightin'  an'  the  likes 
o'  that. 

"The  first  time  I  saw  'im  was  in  St.  Armand. 
Our  'batt'"  (battalion)  "was  in  rest  billets 
a-w'itin'  a  new  draft  before  goin'  up  the  line 


32       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

again.  You  see,  we  'ad  clicked  it  pretty  rough 
at  Fromelles,  an'  a  platoon  looked  like  a 
blinkin'  corporal's  squad  when  it  lined  up  for 
paryde"  (parade).  "Our  ranks  were  pretty 
thin,  what  with  the  blokes  who  'ad  gone  West, 
an'  the  ones  sent  to  Blighty.  H'l  was  pl'ym' 
'  'ouse'  in  that  h'estaminet  right  across  from 
that  bashed-in  church  on  the  corner,  when  'is 
Labor  Battalion  cyme  through  an'  took  over 
billets  just  opposite  from  the  h'estaminet.  My 
tyble  was  near  the  window,  an'  h'l  watched 
them  pass.  A  sorrier  bunch  o'  specimens  o' 
men  I  never  saw.  It  fair  turned  my  blinkin' 
stomach  to  look  at  'em,  what  with  their  pysty" 
(pasty)  "fyces,  stooped-over  shoulders  an' 
stragglin'  g'it"  (gait) .  "After  lookin'  at  'em, 
h'l  registered  a  prayer  o'  thanks  we  'ad  a 
N'vy.  Right  then  an'  there  h'l  admired  the 
Germans  for  their  system  o'  universal  tr'inin'. 
H'if  h'England  'ad  o'  'ad  a  little  more  o'  it, 
there  never  would  'ave  been  a  war,  an'  right 
now  we  would  be  back  in  Blighty  with  our 
wives  an'  nippers,  instead  o'  sittin'  'ere  in  these 


THE  PACIFIST  33 

bloody  ditches  a-w'itin'  for  a  shell  to  come  over 
with  our  nyme  an'  number  on  it. 

"After  the  Labor  Battalion  took  over  billets, 
several  of  'em  cyme  into  the  h'estaminet,  an' 
sat  at  a  tyble  near  me.  Now,  remember,  h'l 
don't  s'y  that  Labor  Battalions  are  composed 
of  conscientious  objectors,  not  likely,  but  this 
one  'appened  to  be  o'  that  breed.  They  started 
to  discuss  the  war  an'  voice  their  opinions  about 
the  'top  'ats'  "  (Members  of  Parliament)  "at 
?ome.  This  bloke  h'l  'm  a-talkin'  about  was 
the  loudest  o'  the  bunch.  'E  seemed  to  'ave  a 
grouch  on  everything  in  general.  H'l  listened 
to  'im  for  a  few  minutes  chuckin'  'is  w'ight 
about  until  it  bloody  well  got  on  my  nerves. 
Chuckin'  up  my  gyme  o'  '  'ouse' — an'  h'l  'ad 
p'id"  (paid)  ' 'alf  a  franc  for  my  board — I 
leaned  over  to  'im  an'  said: 

"  'You  must  be  one  o'  those  bloomin'  con 
scientious  objectors  we  reads  about  in  the 
pypers"  (papers),  "one  o'  those  blighters  who 
don't  believe  in  fightin'  themselves,  but  is  willin' 
to  sit  back  in  Blighty  an'  let  us  blokes  out  'ere 


34       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

do  your  bloody  fightin'  for  you,  while  you  gets 
a  blinkin'  good  screw"  (salary)  "sittin'  on  a 
'igh  stool  in  some  office.' 

'  'E  turned  to  me  an'  answered :  'It 's  the 
likes  o'  you  who  volunteered  for  this  war  what 
keeps  it  a-goin'.  If  you  all  'ad  refused  to  go 
at  first,  there  would  n't  be  h'any  war.' 

"H'l  could  n't  see  it  'is  w'y  at  all,  an'  went 
right  back  at  'im  with :  'Yes,  an'  if  it  was  n't  for 
us  volunteerin',  the  bloody  German  flag  would 
now  be  flyin'  over  Buckin'am  Palace  an'  King 
George  would  be  in  the  Tower  o'  London.' 

"  'E  thought  a  minute  or  two  an'  h'answered : 
'Well,  what  of  it,  one  flag 's  as  good  h'as  an 
other,  an'  h'as  for  the  bloomin'  King,  what  did 
'e  ever  do  for  you,  but  myke  you  p'y  taxes, 
so  h'as  'e  could  bloomin'  well  sit  around  doin' 
nothin'.' 

"This  was  too  much  for  me,  that  blinkin' 
jellyfish  a-slingin'  mud  at  our  King,  so  h'l 
lost  my  temper,  an'  tykin'  my  glass  of  Vin 
Rouge  in  my  'and,  h'l  leaned  h'over  close  to 
'im,  an'  said  right  h'under  'is  nose ; 


THE  PACIFIST  35 

'When  you  mention  the  King's  nyme,  it 's 
customary  to  stand  an'  drink  'is  'ealth.  Per- 
'aps  'e  never  did  anything  special  for  me,  but 
h'l  'ave  never  done  h'anything  special  for  'im, 
an'  h'even  at  that  h'l  've  done  a  damned  sight 
more  than  you  'ave  for  'im,  so  tyke  this  wine, 
an'  drink  'is  'ealth,  or  h'l  '11  dent  that  napper 
o'  yours  so  you  won't  be  able  to  wear  that  tin 
'at  o'  yours.' 

"  'E  got  kind  o'  pyle  (pale)  an'  answered, 
'Drink  the  King's  'ealth,  not  likely.  H'it 's 
through  'im  an'  'is  bloody  top  'ats  in  Parlia 
ment  that  h'l  'm  h'out  'ere.  Why  in  the 
blinkin'  'ell  don't  'e  do  'is  h'own  fightin'  an' 
let  us  poor  blokes  alone?' 

"H'l  saw  red,  an'  was  just  goin'  to  'it  'im, 
when  h'a  big  h'Irishman  out  o'  the  Royal 
h'Irish  Rifles  next  to  me  grabs  the  glass  o' 
wine  from  my  'and,  an'  lookin'  the  blighter 
in  the  fyce,  yells: 

"  'Well,  h'if  the  King  h'ain't  done  nothin'  for 
you  h'English,  'e  's  done  less  for  us  h'Irish,  but 
h'l  volunteered  to  come  h'out  'ere  for  'im,  an' 


36       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

'ere  h'l  h'am,  an'  glad  o'  it,  too,  an'  'opes 
some  d'y  to  get  into  Berlin  with  the  King's 
forces.  You  won't  drink  'is  'ealth,  well,  damn 
you,  you  can  bathe  'is  'ealth.' 

"With  that,  'e  threw  the  wine  in  the  blighter's 
fyce,  an'  smashed  'im  in  the  nose  with  'is  fist. 
The  fellow  went  h'over  like  a  log  with  the 
h'Irishman  still  agoin'  for  'im.  H'if  we  'ad  n't 
pulled  'im  h'off,  h'l  think  'e  would  'ave  killed 
that  conscientious  h'objector.  The  military 
police  cyme  h'in  to  see  what  h'all  the  row  was 
h'about.  H'l  'ad  clicked  three  d'ys  C.  B." 
(confined  to  barracks)  "an'  'ad  no  business  in 
the  h'estaminet,  an'  didn't  want  to  get  h'ar- 
rested,  so  h'in  the  confusion,  h'l  myde  tracks 
for  my  billet. 

"The  next  time  h'l  met  the  bloke  was  when 
we  buried  h'old  Smith  h'out  o'  the  10th  Platoon 
h'in  the  cemetery  h'at  La  Bassee.  'E  was  one 
o'  the  gryve  diggers.  H'all  durin'  the  burial 
service,  'e  stood  lookin'  h'at  the  Union  Jack 
with  a  queer  look  h'on  'is  fyce.  When  h'old 
Smith  was  lowered  into  the  ground,  an'  the 


THE  PACIFIST  37 

dirt  was  thrown  h'on  'im,  the  conscientious 
h'objector  cyme  h'over  to  me  an'  pointin'  h'at 
h'old  Smith's  gryve  said: 

"  'H'l  'ear  'e  was  forty- 'ight  years  h'old,  an' 
left  a  wife  an'  three  nippers  back  h'in  Blighty. 
'E  were  too  h'old  for  the  draft,  weren't  'e? 
Then  'e  must  'ave  volunteered.' 

"H'l  answered,  'O'  course  'e  volunteered,  an' 
there  'e  lies,  deader  than  'ell,  but  h'l  '11  wager 
a  quid  'is  wife  an'  kids  will  be  proud  o'  'im — an' 
that 's  more  than  your  kids  will  be  about  you.' 

'  'E  sneaked  h'off  without  answering. 
Three  d'ys  lyter"  (later)  "h'l  nearly  dropped 
dead  when  h'our  lance  corporal  cyme  h'into 
h'our  billet  with  a  bloody  nose  an'  a  beautifully 
trimmed  lamp.  When  h'l  awsked  'im  'ow  'e 
got  knocked  h 'about,  'e  told  me  that  a  fellow 
h'out  o'  the  Non-combatant  Corps,  nymed 
Watkins  (well,  h'l  've  spilled  'is  nyme)  'ad 
mussed  'im  up  just  because  'e  'ad  called  'im  a 
white-livered  coward. 

"Watkins  clicked  twenty-one  d'ys  No.  1  on 
the  wheel,  an'  when  'is  sentence  was  finished, 


38       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

they  transferred  'im  to  a  fightin'  unit  an* — 
bang!  h'into  h'our  platoon  'e  comes. 

"Many  a  talk  h'l  'ad  with  'im  about  that 
pacifist  stuff,  'e  'ad  n't  chynged  a  bit  h'in  'is 
h'ideas — but  'e  kept  'is  mouth  shut  h'about 
the  King  an'  the  top  'ats  at  'ome. 

"Then  we  went  into  the  trenches,  an'  h'l 
knew  'is  finish  was  near.  A  firin'  squad  or 
'rest  in  peace'  was  to  be  'is  lot;  they  h'all  get 
one  or  the  other  sooner  or  later. 

"After  two  d'ys  h'in,  Fritz  got  rough  an' 
h'opened  h'up  with  a  pretty  stiff  bombardment. 

"Watkins  was  h'in  the  fourth  squad  h'in  a 
dugout  in  the  support  trench  when  a  'Minnie' 
registered  a  direct  'it  on  the  roof  an'  caved 
'er  h'in.  H'everyone  but  Watkins  was  killed. 
'Ow  'e  h'escaped  was  a  marvel,  the  rest  o'  the 
squad  bein'  smashed  h'up  somethin*  h'awful. 
We  collected  the  pieces,  an'  buried  them  the 
next  d'y.  Watkins  'elped  dig  the  gryves. 

"For  two  d'ys  Watkins  scarcely  spoke  a 
word,  just  went  round  with  a  faraw'y  look  h'on 
his  pyle  fyce. 


THE  PACIFIST  3d 

"H'on  the  third  night  after  the  burial, 
volunteers  were  called  for  a  bombin'  r'id,  an' 
h'l  could  scarcely  believe  my  ears  when  h'l 
'card  that  Watkins  'ad  volunteered.  It  was 
the  truth  all  right — 'e  went  along. 

"We  crawled  h'out  h'into  No  Man's  Land 
(yes,  h'l  volunteered,  could  n't  let  Watkins 
show  me  h'up)  under  cover  o'  our  barrage,  an' 
w'ited.  Watkins  was  next  to  me.  Suddenly 
a  star  shell  went  h'up  an'  we  crouched  down 
h'in  h'its  light.  H'l  was  1'yin'  so  that  h'l 
could  see  Watkins — blime  me,  'e  'ad  no  rifle  or 
b'yonet. 

"H'l  whispered  over  to  'im.  'Where 's 
your  rifle?  'E  answered,  'H'l  threw  h'it  aw'y.' 
Before  h'l  'ad  time  to  reply,  the  signal  to  rush 
the  German  trench  was  given,  an'  h'l  lost 
sight  of  'im. 

"H'it  were  rough  goin'  h'in  the  German 
trench,  an'  we  'ad  quite  a  little  o'  'and-to-'and 
fightin'.  Star-shells  were  goin'  h'up  all 
around  us.  One  o'  our  blokes  in  front  o'  me 
was  just  goin'  around  the  corner  o'  a  traverse, 


40       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

when  a  big  German  got  'im  through  the  throat 
with  'is  b'yonet  an'  'e  went  down.  Somethin' 
sprang  past  me  like  a  wild  cat  an'  closed  with 
the  Fritz.  They  both  went  down  together. 
Just  then  another  German  cyme  at  me  from 
the  h'entrance  of  a  dugout  an'  h'l  were  busy. 
H'l  managed  to  get  'im.  Then  our  lieutenant 
an'  two  men  cyme  round  the  traverse,  an'  gyve 
the  order  to  get  back  to  h'our  trenches.  The 
lieutenant  stumbled  over  the  three  bodies  h'in 
front  o'  us.  One  o'  them  groaned.  H'it  were 
Watkins  h'all  right.  H'unarmed  'e  'ad  sprang 
at  the  German  an'  with  'is  bare  'ands  'ad  choked 
Jim  to  death,  but  'e  'ad  a  nasty  jagged  b'yonet 
wound  h'in  'is  right  side.  We  managed  to  get 
'im  back  to  h'our  trenches,  but  'e  died  h'on  the 
firestep.  Before  cashin'  h'in,  'e  looked  up  h'at 
the  lieutenant,  an'  with  a  grin  h'on  'is  f  yce,  said : 
"  'Tell  the  bloomin'  King  an'  the  top  'ats  at 
'ome  that  h'l  died  for  h'England,  an'  h'l  'opes 
that  my  nippers,  like  h'old  Smith's,  will  be 
proud  o'  their  father.  God  syve  the  King!' 
An'  'e  died. 


THE  PACIFIST  41 

"We  buried  'im  next  morning. 

"No,  my  opinion  o'  conscientious  h'objectors 
an'  pacifists  'as  not  chynged.  They  are  h'either 
cowards  or  pro-Germans. 

"You  see,  Watkins  were  n't  h'either.  'E 
were  a  soldier  o'  the  King,  an'  a  damned  good 
one,  too." 


PRIVATE  GINGER 

As  TOLD  BY  HAPPY 


PRIVATE  GINGER 

THE  gun's  crew  had  been  relieved  from 
rest  billets,  and  had  again  returned  to 
their  dugout.  The  weather  was  very  pleasant 
for  ducks,  but  not  being  ducks  the  crew  stuck 
in  the  dugout.  The  air  was  heavy  with  smoke 
from  their  fags.  Fritz,  across  the  way,  would 
send  over  an  occasional  whizz-bang,  just  to  let 
the  Tommies  know  that  they  still  believed  in 
German  kultur.  But  this  did  not  bother  our 
crew  because  in  the  dugout  they  were  safe  from 
whizz-bangs,  and  they  did  not  give  a  darn  what 
Fritz  was  thinking  about  kultur;  but  they  did 
agree  with  the  Kaiser  about  that  place  in  the 
sun  business. 

Dick  turned  to  Yank,  and  asked : 
"Remember  Burton  of  A  Company  ?     Think 
he  was  in  the  Third  Platoon;  the  fellow  that 
was  recommended  for  the  V.  C.  and  refused  it. 

45 


46       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

Got  the  recommendation  for  rescuing  his  pla 
toon  commander  under  fire." 

Yank  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  Dick 
"carried  on"  with: 

"I  never  could  see  into  that  affair,  because 
they  seemed  to  be  the  worst  of  enemies.  The 
officer  was  always  picking  on  him,  used  to  have 
him  'on  the  crime  sheet'  for  the  least  offense. 
Got  him  several  days  of  extra  pack  drill,  and 
once  he  clicked  twenty-one  days'  crucifixion" 
(Field  Punishment  No.  1,  tied  to  a  limber 
wheel  two  hours  per  day  for  twenty-one  days) . 
"No  matter  what  dirty  fatigue  or  working 
party  came  along,  Burton's  name  was  sure  to 
head  the  list. 

"This  Burton  appeared  to  be  a  surly  sort  of 
a  chap.  Kept  to  himself  a  whole  lot,  always 
brooding.  Did  n't  have  many  friends  in  the 
Company,  either.  There  seemed  to  be  some 
thing  on  his  mind.  Most  of  the  Company  men 
said  his  sweetheart  back  in  Blighty  had  thrown 
him  down  for  some  other  bloke." 

Happy  butted  in:     "That's  the  way  with 


PRIVATE  GINGER  47 

this  world,  always  hammering  at  a  fellow. 
Well,  I  know  this  Burton,  and  there  's  not  a 
better  mate  in  the  world,  so  let  that  sink  into 
your  nappers." 

"Don't  get  sore,  Happy,"  said  Dick.  "If 
you  don't  mind,  let 's  have  the  story.  I  meant 
no  offense.  Just  naturally  curious,  that 's  all. 
You  can't  deny  that  the  whole  affair  has  been 
quite  a  mystery  to  the  Brigade.  Spit  it  out 
and  get  it  off  your  chest." 

"Let 's  have  it,  Happy,"  they  all  chimed  in 
chorus. 

Happy,  somewhat  mollified,  lighted  a  Wood 
bine,  took  two  or  three  deep  puffs,  and  started : 

"Well,  it  was  this  way,  but  don't  ask  any 
questions  until  I  am  through. 

"You  know  Burton  is  n't  what  you  'd  call  a 
prize  beauty  when  it  comes  to  looks.  He  's 
about  five  six  in  height,  stocky,  a  trifle  bow- 
legged,  and  pug-nosed.  To  top  this,  he  has  a 
crop  of  red  hair  and  his  clock"  (face)  "is  the 
boarding-house  for  every  freckle  in  the  United 
Kingdom.  But  strong, — say,  that  fellow  could 


48       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

make  Samson  look  like  a  consumptive  when  he 
got  started. 

"In  Blighty,  before  the  war,  Burton  and  this 
Lieutenant — his  name  is  Huston — went  to  the 
same  college. 

"Huston  was  nearly  six  feet  high  and  slen 
der.  Sort  of  a  dandy,  fair-haired,  lots  of 
dough,  which  he  never  got  by  working, — his 
papa  wished  it  on  him  when  he  went  West" 
(died) .  "He  was  good-looking  and  had  a  way 
with  the  girls,  which  made  them  think  he  was 
the  one  and  only.  Did  n't  care  much  for  ath 
letics.  Girls,  dances,  and  card  parties  were 
more  in  his  line. 

"They  were  in  the  same  class.  Burton  was 
working  his  way  through,  and  consequently, 
Huston  looked  down  on  him  as  a  bally  bounder. 
Among  the  athletes.  Burton  was  popular. 
Huston  was  n't. 

"Burton  was  engaged,  or  thought  he  was, 
to  a  pretty  fine  girl  by  the  name  of  Betty.  She 
thought  Burton,  or  'Ginger,'  as  she  called  him, 
was  the  finest  thing  out.  One  day  Ginger  took 


PRIVATE  GINGER  49 

her  to  see  a  foot-ball  game  at  the  college ;  he  was 
playing  on  the  team,  so  she  had  to  sit  it  out 
alone.  During  this  'sitting  out,'  she  met 
Huston,  and  the  trouble  started.  He  was 
dead  gone  on  her  and  she  liked  him,  so  he  made 
hay  while  the  sun  was  shining. 

"She  did  n't  exactly  turn  Ginger  down,  but 
he  was  no  boob,  and  saw  how  things  were,  so  he 
eased  out  of  the  running,  although  it  almost 
broke  his-  heart.  He  certainly  loved  that  girl. 

"This  state  of  affairs  widened  the  gap  be 
tween  Huston  and  Burton.  They  hated  each 
other  pretty  fiercely,  but  Burton  never  went 
out  of  his  way  to  show  it,  while  Huston  took 
every  opportunity  to  vent  his  spleen.  Ginger 
saw  Betty  very  seldom,  and  when  he  did,  she 
was  generally  accompanied  by  Huston. 

"Then  the  war  came.  Ginger  immediately 
enlisted  as  a  private.  He  could  have  had  a 
commission,  but  did  not  want  to  take  a  chance 
of  having  to  mix  with  Huston. 

"A  few  weeks  after  Ginger's  enlistment, 
Huston  joined  too — was  losing  prestige  in 


50       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

Betty's  eyes  by  staying  in  mufti.  He  went 
into  the  O.  T.  C."  (Officers'  Training  Corps). 
"In  seven  months  he  received  his  commission, 
and  was  sent  to  France.  Ginger  had  been  out 
three  months. 

"By  one  of  the  many  strange  coincidences 
that  happen  in  this  world,  Huston  was  sent  to 
the  battalion  and  company  that  Ginger  was  in, 
and  was  put  in  command  of  Ginger's  platoon. 
Then  things  happened. 

"Ginger  could  hardly  believe  his  eyes  when 
he  first  saw  Huston,  and  knew  he  was  to  be  his 
platoon  commander.  He  felt  he  was  in  for  it 
good  and  plenty. 

"That  night  Huston  sent  for  Ginger  and  had 
a  talk  with  him.  Tried  to  make  him  believe 
that  he  harbored  no  animosity,  and  then  de 
tailed  him  as  mail  orderly,  the  first  act  of  a  cam 
paign  of  petty  cruelty.  By  being  mail  orderly, 
Ginger  would  have  to  handle  Betty's  letters  to 
Huston,  and  Huston's  letters  to  her.  Ginger 
saw  through  it  immediately,  and  his  hate 
burned  stronger.  From  that  night  on,  it  was 


PRIVATE  GINGER  51 

one  indignity  after  another,  just  a  merciless 
persecution,  but  Ginger  never  complained; 
just  stored  up  each  new  act  and  swore  venge 
ance. 

"It  came  to  such  a  pass  that  Ginger  could 
bear  it  no  longer.  He  decided  to  kill  Huston, 
and  only  waited  for  a  favorable  opportunity 
to  present  itself.  I  think  it  was  only  his  love 
for  Betty  which  had  held  him  back  so  long;  he 
could  n't  bear  the  thought  of  her  grieving  for 
her  dead  lover.  You  see,  Ginger  thought 
Betty  was  madly  in  love  with  Huston. 

"One  night,  in  the  front  line  trench,  orders 
were  received  that  after  an  hour's  intense  bom 
bardment  of  the  enemy's  lines,  the  company 
would  go  over  the  top  at  six  the  next  morning. 
Huston  was  to  go  over  with  the  first  wave, 
while  Ginger  was  in  the  second.  Here  was  his 
chance. 

"All  that  night  he  crouched  on  the  firestep, 
musing  and  brooding,  nursing  his  revenge. 
He  prayed  to  Betty  to  forgive  him  for  what  he 
was  going  to  do. 


52       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"After  the  bombardment  the  next  morning, 
over  went  the  first  wave,  a  line  of  bayonets  and 
madly  cheering  men.  Ginger  only  saw  one  in 
that  crowd;  his  eyes  never  left  Huston.  His 
finger  twitched  and  caressed  the  trigger  of  his 
rifle — his  long  looked-for  opportunity  had 
come. 

"The  first  wave  had  gone  about  sixty  yards, 
when  Ginger  let  out  a  curse.  Huston  had  been 
hit  and  was  down,  and  he  saw  his  revenge  slip 
ping  through  his  fingers.  But  no,  Huston  was 
not  dead.  He  was  trying  to  rise  to  his  feet! 
He  was  up — hopping  on  one  leg — with  the 
blood  pouring  from  the  other.  Then  he  fell 
again,  but  was  soon  sitting  up,  bandaging  his 
wounded  leg,  using  a  tourniquet  from  his  first- 
aid  packet. 

"A  surge  of  unholy  joy  ran  through  Ginger. 
Lifting  his  safety  latch  on  his  rifle,  unheeding 
the  rain  of  bullets  which  were  ripping  and  tear 
ing  the  sandbagged  parapet  about  him,  he  took 
deliberate  aim  at  Huston.  Then  he  saw  a 
vision  of  Betty,  dressed  in  black,  with  tear- 


PRIVATE  GINGER  58 

stained  eyes.  With  a  muttered  curse  Ginger 
threw  the  rifle  from  him,  climbed  over  the  para 
pet  and  raced  across  No  Man's  Land.  No  act 
of  his  should  bring  tears  in  Betty's  brown  eyes. 
He  would  save  her  worthless  lover,  and  then 
get  killed  himself — it  did  n't  matter. 

"Reaching  Huston,  he  hissed  at  him : 

*  'Damn  you,  I  was  going  to  kill  you,  but  I 
won't.  I  '11  carry  you  back  to  Betty.  But  al 
ways  remember,  it  was  the  man  you  robbed  who 
saved  your  worthless  life,  you  despicable 
skunk.' 

"Huston  murmured :  'Forgive  me,  Burton, 
but  for  God's  sake,  get  me  out  of  this. 
I  '11  be  killed — for  God's  sake,  man,  hurry, 
hurry !' 

"  'That 's  it,  is  it?  Whine,  damn  you,  whine! 
It 's  music  to  my  ears.  Lieutenant  Huston 
begging  a  'bally  bounder'  for  his  life,  and  the 
bounder  giving  it  to  him.  I  would  to  God  that 
Betty  could  see  and  hear  you  now !' 

"With  that  Ginger  stooped,  and  by  main 
strength  lifted  Huston  onto  his  back  and  stag- 


54,      TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

gered  toward  our  lines.  The  bullets  and  pieces 
of  shrapnel  were  cracking  and  swishing  all 
around.  He  had  gone  about  fifty  yards  when  a 
piece  of  shell  hit  his  left  arm  just  below  the 
shoulder.  Down  he  went,  Huston  with  him, 
but  was  soon  up,  his  left  arm  dangling  and 
swinging  at  his  side.  Turning  to  Huston,  who 
was  lying  on  his  back,  he  said : 

"  'I  am  hard  hit — it 's  your  life  or  mine. 
We  're  only  ten  yards  from  our  trench.  Try 
to  make  it  on  your  own.  You  ought  to  be  able 
to  crawl  in.' 

"But  Huston  answered: 

"  'Burton,  don't  leave  me  here,  I  am  bleeding 
to  death.  For  the  love  of  God,  get  me  in! 
You  can  have  Betty,  money,  anything  I  have,  it 
is  all  yours, — just  save  my  life.  Answer  me, 
man,  answer— 

"  'You  want  my  answer,  do  you?  Well, 
take  it,  and  damn  you !' 

"With  that,  Ginger  slapped  the  officer  in  the 
face.  Then,  grabbing  him  by  the  collar  with 
his  right  arm,  the  blood  soaking  his  tunic  from 


PRIVATE  GINGER  55 

the  shell  wound  in  his  left,  Ginger  slowly 
dragged  Huston  to  the  trench,  and  fainted. 

"A  mighty  cheer  went  up  from  our  lines. 
Stretcher-bearers  took  them  both  to  an  ad 
vanced  first-aid  post,  and  their  journey  to 
Blighty  and  Betty  was  started. 

"On  the  trip  over,  Ginger  never  regained 
consciousness.  They  landed  in  a  hospital  in 
England  and  were  put  in  beds  next  to  each 
other.  You  see,  at  that  time,  officers  and  men 
went  to  the  same  hospital. 

"Ginger  was  taken  up  into  the  'pictures'  (op 
erating  theatre) ,  where  his  arm  was  amputated 
at  the  shoulder.  Huston's  wound  was  slight, — 
bullet  through  the  calf  of  leg. 

"While  Ginger  was  coming  out  of  ether  he 
told  all  he  knew.  A  Red  Cross  nurse  with 
tear-dimmed  eyes  was  holding  his  hand.  Oc 
casionally  she  would  look  across  at  Huston  in 
the  next  bed;  he  would  slowly  nod  his  head  at 
each  questioning  glance  of  hers,  while  the  red 
blood  of  shame  mounted  to  his  temples. 

"Then  Ginger  came  to.     He  saw  a  beautiful 


56       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

vision.  Thought  he  was  dreaming.  Sitting 
by  his  bed,  dressed  in  a  Red  Cross  nurse's  uni 
form,  was  Betty,  Huston's  Betty,  holding  his 
hand!  Betty,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  but  this 
time  tears  of  joy.  The  sweat  came  out  on  his 
forehead.  It  could  n't  be  true !  He  gasped 
out  the  one  word — 

"'Betty!' 

"Stooping  over,  the  vision  kissed  him  on  the 
lips,  and  murmured: 

'  'My  Ginger,  you  have  come  back  to  Betty.' 

"Then  he  slept.  Next  morning  the  Colonel 
of  the  hospital  came  to  Ginger's  bedside  and 
congratulated  him,  telling  him  that  he  had  been 
recommended  for  the  V.  C.  Ginger  refused 
the  V.  C.  from  the  Government;  said  he  had 
not  earned  it;  would  not  give  the  reasons,  but 
persisted  in  his  refusal.  You  know  they  can't 
force  you  to  take  a  V.  C. 

"Five  months  later  Ginger  and  Betty  were 
married.  She  cuts  his  meat  for  him  now ;  says 
that  all  his  faults  were  contained  in  his  left 
arm.  He  lost  that.  So  you  see,  Ginger  was 


PRIVATE  GINGER  57 

somewhat  of  a  man,  after  all,  was  n't  he, 
mates?" 

They  agreed  that  he  was.  Ikey  asked 
Happy  how  he  came  to  know  these  details. 
He  answered: 

"Well,  you  see,  it 's  this  way.  Betty  hap 
pens  to  be  my  sister.  Gimme  a  fag,  someone. 
I  am  about  talked  out." 

Sailor  Bill  mumbled  out  loud: 

"I  never  thought  there  could  be  such  a  rotter 
as  Huston  in  the  English  Army." 

Happy,  hearing  this,  came  back  with : 

"Just  a  minute,  Sailor.  Huston  was  n't  a 
rotter  at  heart.  It  was  a  good  lesson  for  him. 
When  he  recovered  from  his  wound,  he  came 
out  here  again.  Made  quite  a  record  for  him 
self,  won  the  Military  Cross  and  a  D.  S.  O. 
He  was  killed  at  Wipers — not  so  long  ago, 
either. 

"You  know,  the  little  wooden  cross  settles 
all  debts  in  this  world.  Dying  for  one's  coun 
try  in  a  righteous  cause,  according  to  my  view, 
entitles  one  to  a  reserved  seat  in  Heaven." 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL 
As  TOLD  BY  DICK 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL 

IT  was  Dick's  turn  again.  As  was  charac 
teristic  of  him,  he  fidgeted  nervously, 
looked  around  shamefacedly,  and  made  one  or 
two  false  starts.  Then,  gaining  courage,  he 
took  a  deep  breath  from  the  Woodbine  he  was 
smoking,  and  turning  to  Yank,  said : 

'Yank,  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  of  a  queer 
happening  that  took  place  before  you  joined 
this  Section  of  the  Suicide  Club,  and  believe 
me,  you  will  have  to  form  your  own  conclu 
sions — it  has  been  a  sore  point  of  discussion 
among  us  ever  since,  and — " 

"I  know,  it 's  about  Jerry's  brother  an'  the 
'aunted  Lone  Tree,"  interrupted  Ikey.  "Now 
I  want  to  tell  you,  Yank,  it  was  no  spirit  at  all, 
it  was  only  'eart — " 

"You  close  your  clock,"  said  Dick,  breaking 
into  the  middle  of  Ikey's  speech;  it 's  my  turn 

61 


62       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

at  'gassing,'  and  you  know  the  law  of  this  dug 
out  :  One  story  at  a  time  and  no  interruptions 
from  the  rest.  You  have  your  opinion  about 
Jerry,  and  I  have  mine.  We  both  had  a  fair 
chance  to  form  these  opinions,  and  Yank  's  go 
ing  to  get  the  same  square  deal,  without  your 
influencing  him  by  any  of  your  propaganda 
remarks  to  swing  him  on  your  side.  That 's 
final,  so  shut  up  until  I  'm  through." 

"Oh,  all  right  then.  If  that 's  the  w'y  you 
look  at  it,  go  a'ead,"  answered  Ikey,  "but,  be 
lieve  me,  you  had  better  tell  the  story  h'exackly 
the  w'y  it  'appened,  or  I  '11  h'interrupt,  dugout 
law  or  no  dugout  law." 

"Shut  up,  Ikey,"  'Curly'  interposed.  "Go 
ahead,  Dick,  we  all  might  have  something  to 
say,  unless  you  keep  to  the  'straight  and  nar- 
row,J  because  we  all  have  opinions  about  haunts 
and  spirits." 

Dick  commenced. 

"One  afternoon  a  few  months  back,  our  gun's 
crew  was  sitting  on  the  firestep,  just  in  front 
of  Gommecourt  Wood. 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL     63 

"Happy  was  busily  engaged  in  rigging  up  a 
flash  screen  to  hide  the  flare  of  our  gun,  which 
we  were  to  mount  on  the  parapet  that  night. 

"Sailor  Bill — he  hadn't  at  that  time  joined 
the  Suicide  Club — was  sewing  a  piece  of  khaki 
cloth  over  his  tin  hat,  because  the  night  previous 
while  on  sentry  go,  standing  in  the  moonlight, 
with  his  head  over  the  top,  the  rays  from  the 
moon  had  reflected  from  his  steel  helmet,  and  a 
couple  of  German  bullets  had  knocked  up  the 
dirt  within  a  few  feet  of  his  head. 

"Hungry  was  wrestling  with  a  tin  of  bully 
beef,  while  Curly  was  hunting  for  cooties,  or 
answering  letters,  I  forget  which. 

"Ikey,  with  our  mascot,  Private  Jim,  was 
sitting  on  the  firestep,  his  back  leaning  against 
a  traverse,  picking  mud  out  of  his  harmonica 
with  a  sliver  of  wood.  Private  Jim  was  happy 
and  contented,  not  knowing  the  fate  in  store  for 
him.  Two  days  later  he  was  killed  by  a  Ger 
man  bullet  and  we  buried  him  behind  the  lines 
like  any  other  bloke  would  be  buried,  wooden 
cross  and  all. 


64      TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"After  working  a  few  minutes  at  the  har 
monica,  Ikey  paused,  put  it  to  his  lips,  and  blew 
into  it;  a  squeaky,  rattly  noise  resulted, — you 
know  the  usual  kind.  Then,  with  a  deep  sigh, 
he  resumed  the  picking  process. 

"I  had  just  finished  a  letter  home,  and  was 
sighing  for  the  time  to  come  when  I  would  take 
the  Kaiser,  a  prisoner,  back  to  good  old  Dublin. 

"Although  it  was  warm  and  sunny,  still  the 
floor  of  the  trench  was  about  three  inches  deep 
in  soft,  sticky  mud, — worse  than  it  is  now. 

"On  my  right  I  heard  a  low  muttering  and  a 
splashing  in  the  mud,  and  around  the  traverse, 
into  our  firebay,  carrying  a  box  of  ammo"  (am 
munition)  ,  "came  the  weirdest  looking  soldier  I 
had  ever  seen.  He  was  tall  and  gaunt,  his  long 
back  seemed  to  bend  in  three  places  at  once 
under  the  weight  of  the  box  of  ammo  on  his 
shoulder.  His  tunic  fitted  him  like  a  loose 
sling  on  a  rifle,  kind  of  flappy,  his  trousers  were 
tight-fitting,  except  at  the  knees,  where  they 
were  lumpy  like  a  pocket  full  of  rocks.  From 
the  top  of  his  boots  to  his  knees  there  was  just 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL     65 

space.  I  '11  be  damned  if  I  can  describe  it,  but 
those  feet,  just  like  a  doll's!  How  he  could 
balance  such  a  swaying  piece  of  skin  and  bones 
on  them  was  a  marvel.  His  neck  was  just 
stretching,  thin  and  stretching,  sort  of  curious- 
like.  His  head  looked  like — blime  me,  what 
did  it  look  like — it  looked  like — where  did  I  see 
that — by  the  King's  hat — I  Ve  got  it — say, 
Yank,  remember  that  American  coat  of  arms 
you  showed  us  yesterday — well,  his  head  was 
identical  with  the  head  of  that  eagle  on  it — 
thought  I  had  seen  it  before  when  you  showed 
it  to  me — but  could  n't  exactly  place  it." 

"By  the  blinkin'  'ell,  Dick  's  right,"  ejacu 
lated  Hungry — "I  noticed  the  resemblance, 
too." 

"As  he  passed  in  front  of  me  he  turned  his 
gaze  in  my  direction  and  a  cold  shiver  ran  up 
and  down  my  spine  as  I  looked  into  his  eyes. 
Looked  like  two  holes  burned  in  a  blanket. 
They  were  uncanny;  a  sort  of  vacant  stare,  as 
if  the  owner  of  them  was  looking  into  the  Great 
Beyond;  but  his  face  was  just  a  dirty  pasty 


66       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

white  as  if  he  had  been  brought  up  on  a  diet 
of  soap.  As  he  staggered  through  the  firebay, 
his  back  bending  in  and  out  under  the  weight  of 
the  ammo  and  passed  from  view  around  the 
next  traverse,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  Grim 
Reaper  had  stalked  through  and  had  marked 
us  for  a  'Rest  in  Peace'  sign. 

"Shuddering  a  little,  I  instinctively  turned 
my  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  rest  of  the  crew. 
They  were  also  staring  at  the  traverse,  around 
which  the  gloomy  looking  soldier  had  disap 
peared. 

"My  heart  sank  to  zero  and  I  had  a  sinking 
sensation  in  the  region  of  my  stomach,  and  on 
the  parados  in  front  of  me,  like  a  cinemato 
graph  on  a  screen,  flashed  a  cemetery,  dotted  all 
over  with  little  wooden  crosses.  I  felt  queer 
and  uneasy. 

"Curly,  in  a  low,  half  frightened  voice,  ex 
claimed  : 

'  'Blime  me,  that  was  'Aunted  Jerry's 
brother,  the  one  who  clicked  it  by  the  old  lone 
tree.  If  you  blokes  want  to  get  the  creeps,  you 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL     67 

ought  to  'ear  'im  talk.  Some  o'  the  fellows 
claim  that  it 's  unlucky  to  get  'im  started. 
They  sye  that  one  o'  'is  'carers  is  sure  to  click 
it  within  a  few  days'  time,  but  if  you  fellows 
want  to  tyke  the  chance,  I  '11  go  over  to  'is  sec 
tion,  which  is  occupyin'  the  second  fireb'y  on 
our  left,  and  see  if  I  can  get  'im  to  tell  us  about 
'is  brother.  But,  now  mind,  this  fellow  is  a 
little  balmy  in  'is  napper,  so  don't  myke  fun 
of  'im.' 

"I  confessed  that  I  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  him, 
but  my  curiosity  overcame  my  fears,  and  I 
asked  Curly  to  go  ahead.  The  rest  of  the  crew 
weakly  assented,  so  Curly  went  after  Jerry's 
brother.  In  about  twenty  minutes  he  returned 
with  him.  Jerry's  brother  came  over  and  sat 
on  the  firestep  next  to  me,  his  face  blending  in 
with  the  weather-bleached  sand-bags  on  the 
parapet.  He  sat  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then,  in  a  thin,  piping,  high-pitched  voice,  which 
I  will  try  to  imitate,  Cockney,  and  all, — 
spoke : — 

'  'So  you  want  to  'ear  about  Jerry,  do  you? 


68       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

Better  not,  better  not,  'cause  h'it  is  in  writin* 
among  th'  spirits  that  h'every  time  I  talk  o'  one 
o'  them,  someone  who  listens,  or  perhaps  me, 
will  'ave  to  be  joinin'  of  'em  before  long.  You 
calls  it  a  bein'  dead,  but  it  h'ain't  true,  there 
h'ain't  no  long  dead,  nothin'  dies,  just  wanders 
an'  wanders.  Their  bodies  is  what 's  dead, 
only  shells  what 's  been  shed  an'  left  behind.' 

"I  was  frightened  stiff,  because  I  admit  I  be 
lieve  in  ghosts,  even  if  Ikey  does  n't,  and  I 
did  n't  want  to  run  the  risk  of  clicking  it  later 
on  by  listening  to  the  story.  Even  Jim  felt 
my  way;  he  had  his  tail  between  his  legs  and 
was  trembling  all  over  and  moaning  his  pro 
test  in  dog  language.  But  of  course,  Ikey 
insisted  that  the  story  be  told,  so  mournfully 
shaking  his  head,  Jerry's  brother  carried  on : 

"  'You  should  n't  o'  defied  the  spirits,  but  it 
is  written  that  I  'ave  to  talk  when  awsked. 
I  'm  the  Recruitin'  Sergeant  for  the  absent 
voices,  detyled  h'in  Jerry's  plyce. 

"  'You  want  to  'ear  about  Jerry?  Fools — 
they  called  'im  'Aunted  Jerry,  but  'e  were  n't 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL     69 

'aunted,  'e  could  just  see — 'e  could  see  into  the 
future — could  sort  o'  tell  what  was  a-goin'  to 
'appen.  'E  talked  to  the  dead  bodies,  the  de 
serted  'omes  o'  the  spirits,  an'  they,  'overin'  in 
the  h'air,  'card  'im,  an'  talked  back,  an'  told  'im 
what  was  a-goin'  to  'appen. 

'  'E  alw'ys  'ad  spirits  h'around  'im, — ghosts, 
you  call  'em,  but  there  h'ain't  no  such  thing  as 
ghosts, — they  're  souls  a'wanderin'  h'around — 
a'lookin'  for  recruits  for  the  h'army  o'  the  dead, 
as  you  ignorantly  calls  'em.  They  're  about  us 
now — ' 

"I  slowly  eased  down  the  firestep  away  from 
him. 

'  'Jerry  used  to  talk  to  the  departed.  'E 
would  sit  in  a  cemetery  h'at  night,  in  rest  bil 
lets,  an'  receive  messages  from  them  what 
cawn't  speak  no  more.  Not  the  ones  as  what 
'ad  just  been  buried,  it  tykes  time,  it  tykes  time, 
but  the  ones  what  were  just  bones,  the  trained 
spirits. 

( 'Up  the  line,  Jerry  'ad  'is  mission.  At 
night  'e  would  crawl  out  in  front,  an'  listen 


70      TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

to  the  voices,  when  the  wind  was  dead  and 
could  n't  carry  'em.  The  Lone  Tree  was  'is 
'eadquarters.  Bodies  were  a-plenty  at  h'its 
roots,  reconnoitering  patrols,  h'English  an' 
German,  meet  out  there.' 

"Then  he  paused.  A  faint  wind  was  blow 
ing.  Jerry's  brother  listened  intently,  sighed, 
and  with  an  unearthly  fire  burning  in  his  eyes, 
said — 

'The  Lone  Tree  is  a-callin',  it 's  a-callin' 
me.  Jerry  is  tryin'  to  myke  me  h'understand. 
I  'm  listenin',  Jerry,  I  'm  a-listenin'.' 

"With  that  he  stood  up  on  the  firestep,  head 
and  shoulders  over  the  top.  Blinking  broad 
daylight  it  was,  too.  We  were  all  afraid  to 
pull  him  down.  Looking  out  towards  the 
Lone  Tree,  he  started  murmuring, — 

"  'Louder,  Jerry,  louder.  I  cawn't  under 
stand,  the  voices  are  mixed.  Jerry,  it 's  your 
brother  a-callin' ;  what  is  it,  lad,  what  is  it  ?' 

"Every  second  we  expected  to  see  his  brains 
spatter  the  parapet  from  a  German  sniper's 
bullet.  Suddenly,  Crack!  Crack!  Crack!  three 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL    71 

bullets  struck  the  parapet  and  went  singing 
over  the  trench.  We  all  ducked,  but  appar 
ently  Jerry's  brother  never  moved. 

"With  a  deep  sigh  he  sank  onto  the  firestep, 
saying,  'I  can  'ear  the  voices,  but  as  yet  cawn't 
understand  'em,  but  I  will — I  will — it  tykes 
traininV 

"I  believe  he  did  not  know  that  he  had  been 
fired  at.  Anyway  it  never  fazed  him.  My 
blood  curdled  at  the  thought  of  how  near  he  had 
come  to  joining  those  spirits  of  his. 

"Ikey  placed  his  hand  on  Jerry's  brother's 
knee  and  said: 

'  'Righto,  mate,  we  know  you  can  see  far  be 
yond  us,  but  tell  us  about  'Aunted  Jerry  an' 
the  poem  'e  wrote  the  d'y  before  'e  clicked  it  at 
the  Lone  Tree.' 

"Jerry's  brother  nodded  in  a  comprehending 
way,  and  unbuttoning  the  pocket  of  his  tunic, 
drew  out  a  creased  and  muddy  piece  of  paper, 
which  he  reverently  and  fondly  opened  out 
upon  his  knee,  and  then  in  an  unnatural,  sing 
song  voice,  which  sent  cold  shivers  up  and  down 


72      TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

my  spine,  recited  the  following,  reading  from 
the  paper." 

At  this  point  Dick  started  searching  the 
pockets  of  his  tunic,  pulling  out,  piece  by  piece, 
a  collection  of  stuff  that  would  have  made  a 
junk-man  sit  up  and  take  notice.  A  look  of 
disappointment  came  over  Dick's  face;  he 
paused,  thought  hard  for  about  a  minute,  and 
then  with  an  exclamation  of  satisfaction,  went 
over  to  his  pack  and  extricated  therefrom  an 
old  leather  wallet,  opened  it  and  carefully  re 
moved  a  piece  of  paper,  muddy,  creased  and 
torn.  With  a  sigh  of  relief  he  exclaimed, 
"Blime  me,  I  thought  I  had  lost  that  poem. 
One  of  Jerry's  brother's  mates  gave  it  to  me 
after, — but  that  would  be  telling  the  story 
backwards." 

Squinting  very  hard  at  the  paper  in  his  hand, 
Dick  read  aloud: 

"Between  the  lines,  in  'No  Man's  Land,' 
With  foliage  gone,  an'  trunk  what 's  torn, 
A  lonely  sentry  tykes  'is  stand, 
Silently  watchin'  from  morn  to  morn. 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL    73 

When  sun  is  gone,  an'  moon  is  bright, 
An'  spreads  its  rays  o'  ghost-like  beams ; 
H'against  the  sky,  that  tree  o'  blight, 
A  ghastly  'angman's  gibbet  seems. 

When  night  is  black,  the  wind's  faint  sigh 
Through  its  shell-torn  branches  moans 
A  call  to  men,  'To  die,  to  die !' 
They  answers  with  groans  and  groans, 

But  obey  the  call,  for  'more  an'  more,' 
An'  Death  sits  by  an'  grins  an'  grins, 
Watchin'  the  fast  growin'  score, 
'Arvest  of  'is  sentry's  whims. 

There  they  lie  'uddled,  friend  an'  foe, 
Ghastly  'caps,  h'English,  French  an'  'Un, 
An'  still  those  piles  forever  grow, 
The  sorry  toll  is  never  done. 

No  wooden  cross  to  mark  their  fall, 
No  tombstone  theirs,  no  carven  rocks, 
Just  the  Lone  Tree  with  its  grim  call, 
Which  forever  mocks  an'  mocks." 

"When  Jerry's  brother  had  finished,  a  dead 
silence  ensued.  I  nervously  lighted  a  fag,  and 
out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  noticed  that  Sailor 
Bill  was  uneasily  squirming  on  the  firestep. 


74      TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"Letting  out  a  sigh,  which  seemed  to  whistle 
between  his  teeth,  our  'guest'  carried  on: 

'  'Jerry  were  n't  much  at  cheerful  writin', 
were  'e?  But  'e  'ad  a  callin'.  H'even  back 
'ome  in  Blighty,  'e  were  n't  much  for  lights  nor 
fun.  'E  took  after  our  mother.  The  neigh 
bors  called  'er  'aunted,  too,  but  she  were  n't. 
She  could  see  things  like  Jerry.  Used  to  talk 
to  the  governor,  set  'is  plyce  at  table  an'  'e  dead 
these  fifteen  years." 

"Then  he  went  on  telling  us  about  the  Lone 
Tree  as  if  we  had  never  seen  it,  and  there  it 
blinking  well  was  about  a  hundred  yards  from 
us  out  in  front.  Many  a  time  at  night  on 
patrol  work  have  I  stumbled  over  a  dead  body 
at  its  base.  I  tell  you,  Yank,  it  was  creepy 
work  listening  to  him. 

"  'This  'ere  Lone  Tree  Sentinel,  Jerry  writes 
about  in  'is  poetry,  is  an  h'old  tree  in  No  Man's 
Land  a  'underd  yards  or  more  from  the  fire- 
step.  It  is  pretty  well  knocked  about  by  bul 
lets  an*  shell  fragments.  It  mykes  a  good 
'eadquarters  for  spirits  an'  voices,  stickin'  sort 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL    75 

o'  lonely-like  up  h'against  the  sky  at  night.  It 
are  the  guide-post  o'  the  dead,  h'even  though 
patrols  uses  it  to  show  'em  the  w'y  back  to  their 
trenches.  But  those  what  follows  its  pointin' 
arm  'as  started  on  their  w'y  to  the  absent 
voices.' 

"We  all  shivered  because  every  one  of  us  had 
used  that  guide-post  more  than  once  while  out 
in  front. 

"  'Out  there  in  the  blackness  h'it  's  easy  to 
lose  your  w'y  h'unless  you  'ave  spirits  a-guidin' 
you,  like  me  an'  Jerry  'as.  At  h'its  roots  were 
many  dead,  just  a  rottin'  out  there,  a  tykin'  o' 
their  trainin'  fer  the  spirits.  When  the  wind 
was  a-blowin'  our  w'y,  to  the  ignorant  it  were 
sort  o'  h' unpleasant,  but  Jerry  an'  me  knew, 
h'it  were  their  message,  they  was  answering  the 
roll  o'  the  spirits. 

"  'At  that  time  No  Man's  Land  were  no 
plyce  for  mortals  what  with  the  bullets  an' 
shells  a-singin'  o'  their  death  song  d'y  an'  night, 
but  Jerry  did  n't  mind,  'e  'ad  'is  mission  an'  'ad 
to  .answer  the  call  o'  the  voices. 


76       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

'  'Every  time  our  Captain  called  for  volun 
teers  fer  a  raidin'  party  or  reconnoitering  pa 
trol,  'Aunted  Jerry,  as  you  call  'im,  'ad  to  vol 
unteer  'cause  'e  was  a  recruitin'  fer  the  dead, 
same  as  me.  After  a  while  'e  was  never 
awsked  if  'e  wanted  to  go,  'is  nyme  was  just 
plyced  on  the  list  as  a-goin'.  When  'e  re 
turned  from  h'out  in  front  'e  used  to  go  to  'is 
dugout  an'  if  any  o'  the  party  'ad  gone  West  'e 
put  their  nymes  in  a  book  an'  used  to  sit  an' 
talk  to  them  nymes.  'E  were  a  teachin'  'em 
their  first  lesson  o'  the  voices.  'E  alw'ys  kep' 
h'account  o'  the  number  o'  dead  at  the  tree. 
'E  could  see  in  the  dark,  could  Jerry,  syme  as 
me. 

"  'Sometimes  in  the  d'ytime  'e  would  rig  up  a 
periscope  on  'is  own,  and  sit  on  the  firestep  for 
hours  a-lookin'  out  in  No  Man's  Land  at  the 
Lone  Tree,  and  the  bodies  around  it.  This 
sort  o'  got  on  our  Captain's  nerves,  an'  'e  gave 
Jerry  orders  not  to  use  a  periscope.  After  this 
order  Jerry  used  to  sit  h'off  by  'imself  on 
the  firestep  a-musin'  an'  a-musin*.  The  other 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL     77 

blokes  laughed  at  'im,  but  I  knew  what  he  were 
a-doin' — 'e  were  a-talkin'  to  the  spirit  o'  the 
Lone  Tree. 

"  'Then  'e  got  sort  o'  reckless,  an'  because  it 
were  against  orders  for  'im  to  use  a  periscope, 
'e  used  to,  in  the  bloomin'  d'ytime,  stick  'is  'ead 
over  the  top  an'  gaze  at  the  Lone  Tree.  Bul 
lets  from  German  snipers  would  kick  up  the 
dirt  an'  tear  the  sand-bags  all  around  'im,  but 
none  of  'em  ever  'it  'im.  No  bullet  ever  myde 
could  kill  Jerry,  'e  were  protected. 

"  'The  rest  o'  the  blokes  in  the  trench  would 
pull  'im  down  off  the  firestep.  They  thought 
they  were  a-savin'  'is  life,  but  Jerry  weren't 
afraid  from  bullets.  'E  knew,  same  as  me, 
that  they  could  n't  'arm  'im.  Then  our  Cap 
tain — 'e  'ad  brains,  'e  'ad — said  that  Jerry  was 
balmy,  an'  gave  orders  to  the  Sergeant-M'jor 
to  tyke  'im  back  to  the  Doctors  to  send  'im  to 
Blighty.  Jerry  was  told  about  this  the  night 
before  the  mornin'  'e  was  to  leave.  'E  was 
greatly  upset,  'e  was,  an'  all  that  d'y  did  nothin' 
but  talk  to  the  spirits — the  air  were  full  of  'em 


78       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

—I  could  'ear  o'  their  voices.  About  ten 
o'clock  Jerry  was  missed.  The  next  morning 
'e  was  still  a  missin'.  For  two  d'ys  nothin'  was 
'card  o'  Jerry.  Then  the  Royal  Irish  Rifles 
took  over  a  sector  o'  trench  on  our  right.  A  lot 
o'  our  blokes  told  'em  about  Jerry  bein'  missin'. 
A  few  o'  'em  got  around  me,  an'  I  described 
Jerry  to  'em,  but  I  were  n't  afraid  for  Jerry 
— I  knew  where  'e  was — 'e  were  with  his 
spirits. 

'That  night  an  Irish  patrol  went  out,  an' 
when  they  returned  they  brought  a  body  with 
'em ;  said  they  'd  found  it  at  the  foot  o'  the  Lone 
Tree.  It  were  Jerry,  all  right,  but  'e  were  n't 
'it  nowhere.  Two  bloomin'  doctors  examined 
'im,  lookin'  for  wounds,  but  could  n't  find  none, 
because  there  were  n't  none.  'E  was  dead,  all 
right,  an'  that  bloomin'  Captain — 'e  'ad  brains, 
'e  'ad — was  responsible  for  'is  death.  'E  'ad 
tried  to  tyke  Jerry  aw'y  from  'is  spirits,  so 
Jerry  crawled  out  to  the  Lone  Tree  to  answer 
its  call.  'E  answered  it,  and  now  'e  's  with  the 
spirits  'e  loves,  an'  sometime  I  '11  join  'im  an' 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL     79 

'em.  'E  's  with  'em,  all  right,  I  know — I 
know." 

"Just  then  Jim  started  to  whimper.  If  the 
truth  were  known,  we  all  felt  like  whimpering. 

"Without  another  word,  Jerry's  brother  got 
up,  and  muttering  to  himself,  passed  out  of 
sight  around  the  traverse.  As  he  disappeared 
from  view,  Sailor  Bill  exclaimed: 

"  'Blawst  my  deadlights,  but  if  a  bloke  like 
that  ever  shipped  in  the  Navy,  in  a  fortnight's 
time  'e  would  bloomin'  well  be  an  Admiral,  be 
cause  'e  would  be  the  only  one  left  in  the 
blinkin'  Navy.  Gives  me  the  proper  creeps. 
'Ow  in  'ell  'is  company  stands  for  'im,  I  don't 
know.  'Ow  about  it,  Curly — why  'as  n't  'e 
been  sent  to  Blighty  as  balmy?' 

"  'I  '11  tell  you,  Bill,'  answered  Curly;  'this 
bloke  only  gets  these  fits  occasionally.  He  's 
a  damned  good  soldier — always  on  the  job,  and 
next  to  Corporal  French,  and  his  brother, 
Haunted  Jerry,  he  's  the  best  scout  for  work  in 
No  Man's  Land  that  ever  put  a  foot  in  these 
blinkin'  ditches.  It 's  only  lately  that  he  's 


80      TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

been  having  these  spells  so  often,  and  yesterday 
the  Sergeant-Major  told  me  that  he  was  under 
observation,  and  that  it  would  only  be  a  short 
time  before  he  was  shipped  back.' 

"Jim  was  still  whimpering.  This  got  on 
Ikey's  nerves  and  he  gave  Jim  a  sharp  cuff  on 
the  side  of  the  head.  This  was  the  first  time  a 
hand  had  been  raised  against  Jim  since  he 
had  joined  us  months  back.  He  gave  Ikey  a 
piteous  look,  and,  sticking  his  stump  of  a  tail 
between  his  legs,  disappeared  from  the  firebay. 

"All  afternoon  we  tried  to  be  as  cheerful  as 
possible,  but  our  merriment  was  very  artificial. 
Every  laugh  seemed  forced  and  strained. 
Haunted  Jerry  had  sure  put  a  damper  on  us." 

Yank  started  to  speak,  but  Dick,  noticing 
his  action,  held  up  his  hand  and  said, — 

"That  is  n't  all,  Yank,  the  important  part  is 
yet  to  come,  and  after  hearing  the  rest,  if  you 
don't  believe  in  spirits,  my  idea  of  your  intelli 
gence  will  be  greatly  lessened. 

"Shortly  after  Jerry's  brother  told  us  his 
story,  we  were  relieved  and  went  into  rest  bil- 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL     81 

lets.  A  month  later  we  again  took  over  the 
same  trench  and  there  was  the  Lone  Tree  same 
as  usual,  except  for  a  part  of  the  branch  being 
shot  away,  the  end  looking  just  like  a  human 
hand  beckoning.  It  certainly  was  queer  look 
ing.  I  hated  to  look  at  it  against  the  sky. 
Seemed  to  be  calling  me. 

"As  fate  would  have  it,  Jerry's  brother's 
company  was  on  our  right.  I  saw  him  several 
times  but  avoided  him.  Damn  me,  I  admit  I 
was  afraid  of  him. 

"Then  our  brigade  got  busy  and  decided  to 
go  over  the  top.  The  barrage  lifted  at  six  in 
the  morning,  and  the  first  wave  went  over. 
We  were  in  the  second.  The  rifle  and  ma 
chine-gun  fire  was  hot  and  the  first  wave  soon 
thinned  out  before  they  had  gone  thirty  yards. 

"A  fellow  in  the  first  wave,  named  Johnson, 
clicked  it  in  the  knee  from  a  bit  of  shrapnel.  I 
could  see  him  through  the  periscope.  He 
fell,  tried  to  get  up,  got  hit  again  and  went 
down.  He  was  only  about  six  yards  in  front  of 
our  wire. 


82       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"After  going  down  the  second  time,  his  tunic 
on  the  right  shoulder  red  with  blood,  he  re 
mained  motionless.  I  thought  he  was  dead, 
but  no,  in  a  short  while  he  moved  and  slowly 
rose  on  his  good  knee,  pushing  on  the  ground 
with  his  left  arm,  and  started  to  call  to  us. 
Down  on  my  right,  a  tussle  took  place  among 
the  blokes  crouching  on  the  firestep  and  sud 
denly  a  form  loomed  over  the  parapet  and  I 
saw  Jerry's  brother  running  high  through  a 
lane  in  the  wire.  He  came  to  the  wounded 
man  who,  seeing  him,  tried  to  crawl  away. 
Jerry's  brother  stopped  and,  standing  erect, 
stretched  both  arms  in  the  direction  of  the  Lone 
Tree.  Just  then  a  Boche  machine-gun  turned 
loose.  The  bullets  knocked  up  the  dirt  all 
around  the  two.  Jerry's  brother  never  no 
ticed  them,  but  stooping,  picked  up  John 
son,  as  if  he  were  a  feather,  and  throw 
ing  him  over  his  shoulder,  head  hanging 
down  in  back  of  him,  walked  toward  our 
trench.  When  he  reached  the  parapet  he  let 
Johnson  down.  Half  of  Johnson's  head  was 


THE  LONE  TREE  SENTINEL     83 

gone,  literally  torn  off,  and  Jerry's  brother 
was  n't  hit.  Seeing  that  Johnson  was  dead, 
Jerry  paused,  stooped  over  and  gave  him  a  long 
look,  then,  facing  in  the  direction  of  the  Lone 
Tree,  he  again  stretched  out  his  arms,  and 
shouted,  'I  'm  a-comin',  Jerry,  I  'm  a-comin', 
one  more,  Jerry,  one  more.'  Stooping,  he 
lifted  the  dead  Johnson  on  his  shoulder  and 
started  at  a  slow  run  toward  the  Lone  Tree, 
Johnson's  arms  dangling  and  flopping  about 
his  legs.  Just  then  the  word  came  for  the  sec 
ond  wave  to  go  over. 

"That  night  we  were  back  in  our  origi 
nal  trench, — had  n't  gained  an  inch.  The 
stretcher-bearers  brought  in  lots  of  bodies  from 
out  in  front,  among  them  Johnson  and  Jerry's 
brother.  Yes,  he  was  dead.  And,  Yank,  the 
doctors  could  not  find  a  mark  on  him,  while 
Johnson's  body  had  twenty-eight  wounds. 
Now,  if  that  is  n't  spirits,  what  is  it?" 

"  'Eart  trouble,"  ejaculated  Ikey. 

But  Yank,  slowly  shaking  his  head,  left  the 
dugout  and  went  into  the  fire  trench. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  A  DUGOUT 

As  TOLD  BY  YANK  WHILE  ON  A  WORKING 
PARTY,  TO  A  SQUAD  OF  ROYAL  ENGI 
NEERS,  IN  THEIR  DUGOUT 


CHRISTMAS  IN  A  DUGOUT 


'XTOU  say  you  fellows  have  just  come  out 
J[  and  want  to  know  how  I  enjoyed  last 
Christmas.  Well,  I  '11  tell  you  the  circum 
stances,  and  let  you  judge  for  yourself  about 
the  enjoyment  part  of  it. 

"I  guess  nearly  all  of  you  met  our  gun's  crew 
at  that  show  we  gave  at  S  -  ,  so  it  will  be  un 
necessary  to  introduce  them.  As  well  as  I  re 
member  this  is  what  happened  : 

"It  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  cold;  not  the 
kind  of  cold  which  sends  the  red  blood  tingling 
through  your  veins  and  makes  you  want  to  be 
'up  and  at  'em,'  but  that  miserable  damp  kind 
that  eats  into  the  marrow  of  your  bones,  attack 
ing  you  from  the  rear  and  sending  cold  shivers 
up  and  down  your  spinal  column.  It  gives  you 
a  feeling  of  dread  and  loneliness. 

"The  three  of  us,  Curly,  Happy,  and  myself, 
were  standing  at  the  corner  of  Yankee  Avenue 

87 


88       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

and  Yiddish  Street,  waiting  for  the  word 
'Stand  to,'  upon  which  we  were  to  mount  our 
machine-gun  on  the  parapet  and  go  on  watch 
for  two  hours  with  our  heads  sticking  over  the 
top. 

"Yankee  Avenue  was  the  name  of  the  fire 
trench,  while  Yiddish  Street  was  the  communi 
cation  trench  leading  to  the  rear.  You  see,  we 
were  occupying  'Y'  Sector  of  the  front  line  of 
our  brigade. 

"The  trench  was  muddy,  and  in  some  places 
a  thin  crust  of  ice  was  beginning  to  form 
around  the  edges  of  the  puddles. 

"We  had  wrapped  our  feet  and  legs  with 
empty  sand-bags,  and  looked  like  snow  shovel- 
ers  on  Fifth  Avenue.  My  teeth  were  chatter 
ing  with  the  cold.  Happy  was  slapping  his 
hands  on  his  thighs,  while  Curly  had  unbut 
toned  one  of  the  buttons  on  his  overcoat,  and 
with  his  left  hand  was  desperately  trying  to 
reach  under  his  right  armpit, — no  doubt  a 
'cootie'  had  gone  marketing  for  its  Christmas 
dinner. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  A  DUGOUT     89 

"Then  came  the  unwelcome  'Stand  to,'  and  it 
was  up  on  the  firestep  for  us,  to  get  our  gun 
mounted.  This  took  about  five  minutes. 

"Curly,  while  working  away,  was  mutter 
ing:  'Blime  me,  Christmas  Eve,  and  'ere  I 
am  somew'eres  in  Frawnce,  'alf  starved  with 
the  cold.' 

"Happy  was  humming,  'Keep  the  Home 
Fires  Burning.'  Right  then,  any  kind  of  a 
home  fire  would  have  been  very  welcome. 

"It  was  black  as  pitch  in  No  Man's  Land. 
Curly  stopped  muttering  to  himself  and  Hap 
py's  humming  ceased.  There  was  serious 
work  in  front  of  us.  For  two  hours  we  had  to 
penetrate  that  blackness  with  our  straining 
eyes  to  see  that  Fritz  did  not  surprise  us  with 
some  German  Kultur  Christmas  stunt. 

"Suddenly,  Happy,  who  was  standing  on  the 
firestep  next  to  me,  gripped  my  arm,  and  in  a 
low,  excited  whisper,  asked: 

"  'Did  you  see  that  out  in  front,  Yank,  a 
little  to  the  right  of  that  black  patch  in  the 
barbed  wire?' 


90      TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"Turning  my  eyes  in  the  direction  indicated, 
with  my  heart  pounding  against  my  ribs,  I 
waited  for  something  to  develop. 

"Sure  enough,  I  could  make  out  a  slight 
movement.  Happy  must  have  seen  it  at  the 
same  time,  because  he  carefully  eased  his  rifle 
over  the  top,  ready  for  instant  use.  My  rifle 
was  already  in  position.  Curly  was  fumbling 
with  the  flare  pistol.  Suddenly  a  loud  'plop,' 
as  he  pulled  the  trigger,  and  a  red  streak  shot 
up  into  the  air  as  the  star  shell  described  an  arc 
out  in  front;  it  hit  the  ground  and  burst, 
throwing  out  a  white,  ghostly  light.  A  fright 
ened  'meouw,'  and  a  cat,  with  speed  clutch 
open,  darted  from  the  wire  in  front  of  us, 
jumped  over  our  gun  and  disappeared  into  the 
blackness  of  the  trench.  Curly  ducked  his 
head,  and  Happy  let  out  a  weak,  squeaky 
laugh.  I  was  frozen  stiff  with  fear.  Pretty 
soon  the  pump  action  of  my  heart  was  resumed, 
and  once  more  I  looked  out  into  No  Man's 
Land. 

"For  the  remainder  of  our  two  hours  on 


CHRISTMAS  IN  A  DUGOUT     91 

guard  nothing  happened.  Then  we  'turned 
over'  to  the  second  relief  and,  half  frozen, 
waded  through  the  icy  mud  to  the  entrance  of 
our  dugout. 

"From  the  depths  of  the  earth  came  the 
notes  of  a  harmonica  playing  'Pack  Up  Your 
Troubles  in  Your  Old  Kit  Bag,  and  Smile, 
Smile,  Smile.'  Stumbling  down  the  muddy 
steps  we  entered  the  dugout.  This  was  a  reg 
ular  dugout,  not  like  the  two-by-four  one  we 
generally  had  wished  on  us. 

"Eight  boys  of  our  machine-gun  section,  sit 
ting  on  their  packs,  had  formed  a  circle  around 
a  wooden  box.  In  an  old  ammunition  tin  six 
candles  were  burning.  I  inwardly  shuddered 
at  this  extravagance  but  suddenly  remembered 
that  it  was  Christmas  Eve.  Sailor  Bill  was 
making  cocoa  over  the  flames  of  a  'Tommy's 
cooker,'  while  Ikey  was  toasting  bread  in  front 
of  a  fire  bucket,  the  fumes  from  which  nearly 
choked  us. 

"As  soon  as  we  made  our  appearance  in  the 
dugout  the  circle  stood  up.  and,  as  is  usual  with 


92       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

you  English,  unselfishly  made  room  for  us  to 
get  around  the  fire  bucket  to  thaw  out  our  stif 
fened  joints.  In  about  twenty  minutes  or  so 
the  cold  of  the  trench  was  forgotten  and  we 
joined  in  the  merriment.  The  musician  put  his 
harmonica  away,  which  action  was  greatly  ap 
preciated  by  the  rest  of  us.  It  was  Ikey. 
Bursting  with  importance,  'Sailor  Bill'  ad 
dressed  us : 

'  'Gentlemen,  it  is  now  time  for  this  ship's 
company  to  report  progress  as  to  what  they 
have  done  for  the  Christmas  feed  which  is  to  be 
held  tomorrow  at  eight  bells.  Yank,  let 's  hear 
yours.' 

"I  reported  one  dozen  eggs,  two  bottles  of 
white  wine,  one  bottle  of  red  wine,  eight  packets 
of  Gold  Flake  'fags'  and  one  quart  bottle  of 
champagne,  which  had  cost  me  five  francs,  my 
last  and  lonely  note  on  the  Banque  de  France, 
at  a  French  estaminet. 

"This  report  was  received  with  a  cheer. 
Ikey  was  next  in  order.  He  proudly  stated 
that  he  had  saved  his  rum  issue  for  the  last 


CHRISTMAS  IN  A  DUGOUT     93 

eleven  days,  and  consequently  was  able  to  do 
nate  to  the  feast  his  water  bottle,  three-fourths 
full  of  rum.  We  knew  he  had  'swiped'  the 
rum,  but  said  nothing  because  this  would  help 
out  in  making  brandy  sauce  for  the  plum  pud 
ding.  Sailor  Bill  informed  us  that  he  had  a 
fruit  cake,  a  bottle  of  pickled  walnuts,  and 
two  tins  of  deviled  ham,  which  had  been  sent 
out  to  him  from  London.  Each  man  had 
something  to  report.  I  carefully  made  a  list 
of  the  articles  opposite  the  name  of  the  person 
donating  them,  and  turned  the  list  over  to 
Bill,  who  was  to  act  as  cook  on  the  following 
day. 

"Just  then  Lance  Corporal  Hall  came  into 
the  dugout  and,  warming  his  hands  over  the 
fire  bucket,  said: 

'  'If  you  blokes  want  to  hear  something  that 
will  take  you  home  to  Blighty,  come  up  into  the 
fire  trench  a  minute.' 

"None  of  us  moved.  That  fire  bucket  was 
too  comfortable.  After  much  coaxing,  Sailor 
Bill,  Ikey,  and  myself  followed  Hall  out  of  the 


94       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

dugout  up  into  the  fire  trench.  A  dead  silence 
reigned,  and  we  started  to  return.  Hall 
blocked  our  way,  and  whispered  : 

'  'Just  a  minute,  boys,  and  listen.' 

"Pretty  soon,  from  the  darkness  out  in  front, 
we  heard  the  strains  of  a  cornet  playing  'It 's  a 
Long,  Long  Trail  We  're  Winding.'  We 
stood  entranced  till  the  last  note  died  out. 
After  about  a  four  or  five  minute  wait  the 
strains  were  repeated,  and  then  silence.  I  felt 
lonely  and  homesick. 

"Out  of  the  firebay  on  our  left  a  Welsh  voice 
started  singing  the  song.  The  German  cornet 
player  must  have  heard  it,  because  he  picked  up 
the  tune  and  accompanied  the  singer  on  his  cor 
net.  I  had  never  heard  anything  so  beautiful 
in  my  life  before.  The  music  from  the  Ger 
man  trench  suddenly  ceased,  and  in  the  air 
overhead  came  the  sharp  Crack!  Crack!  of 
machine  gun  bullets,  as  some  Boche  gunner 
butted  in  on  the  concert.  We  ducked  and  re 
turned  to  our  dugout. 

"The  men  were  all  tired  out,  and  soon  rasp- 


CHRISTMAS  IN  A  DUGOUT     95 

ing  snores  could  be  heard  from  under  the  cover 
of  blankets  and  overcoats. 

"The  next  day  was  Christmas,  and  we 
eagerly  awaited  the  mail,  which  was  to  be 
brought  up  by  the  ration  party  at  noon. 

"Not  a  shot  or  shell  had  been  fired  all  morn 
ing.  The  sun  had  come  out,  and  although  the 
trenches  were  slippery  with  mud,  still  it  was 
warm,  and  we  felt  the  Christmas  spirit  running 
through  our  veins.  We  all  turned  in  and 
cleaned  up  the  dugout.  Making  reflectors  out 
of  ammunition  tins,  sticking  them  into  the  walls 
of  the  dugout,  we  placed  a  lighted  candle  in 
each.  Sailor  Bill  was  hustling  about,  prepar 
ing  the  Christmas  spread.  He  placed  a  water 
proof  sheet  on  the  floor,  and  adding  three  blan 
kets  spread  another  waterproof  over  the  top 
for  a  table-cloth,  and  arranged  the  men's  packs 
around  the  edges  for  chairs. 

"Presently  the  welcome  voice  of  our  Ser 
geant  came  from  the  entrance  of  the  dugout: 

"  'Come  on,  me  lads,  lend  a  'and  with  the 
post.' 


96       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"There  was  a  mad  rush  for  the  entrance.  In 
a  couple  of  minutes  or  so  the  boys  returned, 
staggering  under  a  load  of  parcels.  As  each 
name  was  read  off,  a  parcel  was  thrown  over 
to  the  expectant  Tommy.  My  heart  was  beat 
ing  with  eagerness  as  the  Sergeant  picked  up 
each  parcel:  then  a  pang  of  disappointment  as 
the  name  was  read  off. 

"Each  of  the  others  received  from  one  to  four 
parcels.  There  were  none  left.  I  could  feel 
their  eyes  sympathizing  with  me. 

"Sailor  Bill  whispered  something  to  the 
Sergeant  that  I  could  not  get.  The  Sergeant 
turned  to  me  and  said: 

'Why,  blime  me,  Yank,  I  must  be  goin' 
balmy.  I  left  your  parcel  up  in  the  trench. 
I  '11  be  right  back.' 

"He  returned  in  a  few  minutes  with  a  large 
parcel  addressed  to  me.  I  eagerly  took  the 
parcel  and  looked  for  the  postmark.  It  was 
from  London.  Another  pang  of  disappoint 
ment  passed  through  me.  I  knew  no  one  in 
London.  My  mail  had  to  come  from  America. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  A  DUGOUT     97 

"Then  it  all  flashed  over  me  in  an  instant. 
About  two  weeks  before  I  had  noticed  a  collec 
tion  being  taken  up  in  the  section  and  at  the  time 
thought  it  very  strange  that  I  was  not  asked  to 
donate.  The  boys  had  all  chipped  in  to  make 
sure  that  I  would  not  be  forgotten  on  Christ 
mas.  They  eagerly  crowded  around  me  as  I 
opened  the  parcel.  It  contained  nearly  every 
thing  under  the  sun,  including  some  American 
cigarettes. 

"Tears  of  gratitude  came  to  my  eyes,  but 
some  way  or  other  I  managed  not  to  betray  my 
self.  Those  Tommies  certainly  were  tickled  at 
my  exclamations  of  delight  as  I  removed  each 
article.  Out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  I  could 
see  them  nudging  each  other. 

"A  man  named  Smith  in  our  section  had  been 
detailed  as  runner  to  our  Captain  and  was  not 
present  at  the  distribution  of  the  mail.  Three 
parcels  and  five  letters  were  placed  on  his  pack 
so  he  would  receive  them  on  his  return  to  the 
dugout. 

"In  about  ten  minutes  a  man  came  from  the 


98       TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

trench  loaded  down  with  small  oblong  boxes. 
Each  Tommy,  including  myself,  received  one. 
They  were  presents  from  the  Queen  of  Eng 
land,  and  each  box  contained  a  small  plum  pud 
ding,  cigarettes,  a  couple  of  cigars,  matches  and 
chocolate.  Every  soldier  of  the  British  Army 
in  the  trenches  received  one  of  these  boxes  on 
Christmas  Day,  as  most  of  you  know. 

"At  last  Sailor  Bill  announced  that  Christ 
mas  dinner  was  ready  and  we  each  lost  no  time 
in  getting  to  our  respective  packs,  sitting 
around  in  a  circle.  Smith  was  the  only  ab 
sentee,  and  his  parcels  and  letters,  still  un 
opened,  were  on  his  pack.  He  was  now  a  half 
hour  overdue. 

"Sailor  Bill,  noting  our  eagerness  to  begin, 
held  up  his  hand  and  said : 

'  'Now  boys,  we  're  all  shipmates  together, 
Don't  you  think  it  would  be  better  to  wait  a 
few  minutes  more  for  Smith?" 

"We  all  assented,  but,  soldier-like,  cussed 
him  for  his  delay. 

"Ten  minutes  passed — fifteen — then  twenty. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  A  DUGOUT     99 

All  eyes  were  turned  in  Sailor  Bill's  direction. 
He  answered  our  looks  with:  'Go  to  it,  boys, 
we  can't  wait  for  Smith.  I  don't  know  what 's 
keeping  him,  but  you  know  his  name  is  in  orders 
for  leave  and  perhaps  he  is  so  tickled  that  he  's 
going  to  see  his  wife  and  three  little  nippers  in 
Blighty,  that  he  's  lost  his  bearings  and  has  run 
aground.' 

"We  started  in,  and  waxed  merry  for  a  few 
minutes.  Then  there  'd  be  an  uncomfortable 
pause  and  all  eyes  would  turn  in  the  direction 
of  the  vacant  place.  Uneasiness  prevailed. 

"Suddenly,  the  entrance  to  the  dugout  was 
darkened  and  a  form  came  stumbling  down. 
With  one  accord  we  all  shouted : 

*  'Come  on,  Smith,  you  're  missing  one  of  the 
best  Christmas  dinners  of  your  life." 

"Our  Sergeant  entered  the  dugout.  One 
look  at  his  face  was  enough.  We  knew  he  was 
the  bearer  of  ill  tidings. 

"With  tears  in  his  eyes  and  a  catch  in  his 
voice,  he  asked: 

"  'Which  is  Smith's  pack?' 


100     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"We  all  solemnly  nodded  our  heads  in  the 
direction  of  the  vacant  place.  Without  a  word 
the  Sergeant  picked  up  the  letters,  parcels  and 
pack  and  started  to  leave  the  dugout. 

"Sailor  Bill  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  just 
as  the  Sergeant  was  about  to  leave  he  asked : 
'  'Out  with  it,  Sergeant,  what 's  happened?' 

"The  Sergeant  turned  around,  and,  in  a 
choking  voice,  said : 

'  'Boys,  Smith  's  gone  West.  Some  bloody 
German  sniper  got  him  through  the  napper  as 
he  was  passing  that  bashed-in  part  in  Yiddish 
Street.' 

"Sailor  Bill  ejaculated: 

"  'Poor  old  Smith,  gone  West/  Then  he 
paused  and  sobbed  out :  'My  God,  think  of  his 
wife  and  three  little  nippers  waiting  in  Blighty 
for  him  to  come  home  for  the  Christmas  holi 
days.' 

"I  believe  that  right  at  that  moment  a  solid 
vow  of  vengeance  registered  itself  in  every 
heart  around  that  festive  circle. 

"The  next  day  we  buried  poor  Smith  in  a 


CHRISTMAS  IN  A  DUGOUT     101 

little  cemetery  behind  the  lines.  While  stand 
ing  around  his  grave  our  artillery  suddenly 
opened  up  with  an  intense  bombardment  on  the 
German  lines,  and  as  every  shell  passed, 
screaming  overhead,  we  sent  a  prayer  of  ven 
geance  with  it. 

"As  the  grave  was  filled  in,  I  imagined  a 
huge  rainbow  embracing  the  graves  in  that 
cemetery  on  which,  in  letters  of  fire,  was  writ 
ten,  sarcastically  in  German,  'Peace  on  Earth, 
Good  Will  Toward  Men.'  But  such  is  war. 

"So,  boys,  that  was  my  last  Christmas. 
Where  I  '11  be  next  Christmas,  God  only 
knows. 

"Next  day  my  mail  came  in  from  America, 
and  did  n't  cheer  me  much  because  I  was  think 
ing  of  Smith's  wife  and  nippers. 

"So  long,  boys,  I  Ve  got  to  go." 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES 

As  TOLD  BY  YANK  FROM  A  PERSONAL  EXPERI 
ENCE  RELATED  TO  HIM  BY  A  SOLDIER 
NAMED  ATWELL 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES 

THE  British  Lion  was  roaring  and  his 
growls  could  be  heard  all  along  the 
Western  Front.  Many  German  Generals 
were  stirring  uneasily  in  their  large  and 
sumptuously  furnished  concrete,  shell-proof 
dugouts,  kilos  behind  the  German  front  line 
trenches,  as  the  ever  increasing  thundering  roar 
reached  their  ears.  Way  down  in  their  hearts 
there  was  an  unknown  dread,  perhaps  a  weak 
ening  of  faith  in  the  all  powerful  might  of  their 
'Me  und  Gott.' 

"We  had  a  close-up  view  of  the  King  of 
Beasts,  in  his  majestic  might,  as  he  crouched 
ready  for  a  spring,  his  tail  furiously  and  im 
patiently  thumping  the  ground.  In  a  way  he 
was  a  sorry-looking  specimen;  patches  of  hide 
were  missing,  revealing  wounds,  some  of  which 

105 


106     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

had  entirely  healed,  while  others  were  still 
freshly  bleeding,  exposing  the  raw  flesh.  If 
these  scars  had  been  labelled  it  would  have  been 
easy  to  read,  'Lusitania,'  'Hospital  Ships  Tor 
pedoed/  'Zeppelin  Murders,'  'Poison  Gas,' 
'Liquid  Fire.'  The  memory  and  pain  of  these 
atrocities  increased  his  impatience  to  spring, 
whetted  his  appetite  to  rend  and  tear. 

"The  British  bombardment  of  the  German 
Lines  was  on,  a  bombardment  which  lasted  for 
eight  days  and  nights.  At  night  the  sky  was  a 
red  glare,  as  if  the  world  were  on  fire.  Scarlet 
tongues  of  flame  would  suddenly  shoot  up  from 
the  German  lines  and  as  suddenly  die  out,  only 
to  be  replaced  by  countless  others  as  thousands 
of  British  shells  burst  in  the  air  or  buried  them 
selves  in  the  ground  searching  out  the  German 
Rats  in  their  holes. 

"Continuous  flashes  from  the  British  rear 
paid  tribute  to  the  artillerymen,  stripped  to  the 
waist,  sweating  and  scorched  by  the  breath  of 
their  guns,  as  they  fed  shells  to  the  iron  mon 
sters.  Overhead  a  rushing  noise  like  the  pass- 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES    107 

ing  of  an  express  train,  or  a  moaning  sigh 
through  the  air  meant  that  the  steel  messengers 
of  death  and  vengeance  were  on  their  way,  on 
their  way  to  give  the  Germans  a  taste  of  the 
Hell  that  they  had  prepared  for  others.  The 
earth  seemed  to  heave  and  crack  as  if  some 
huge  giant  had  been  buried  alive  and  was 
struggling  for  the  air.  This  bombardment  was 
the  forerunner  of  the  'Battle  of  the  Somme.' 

"Atwell  and  I  were  alone  in  the  machine 
gunners'  dugout  of  the  support  trench,  the 
gun's  crew  being  on  duty,  in  the  fire  trench. 
Atwell,  a  great  big  lovable  fellow,  was  my 
mate.  We  had  both  been  detailed  to  the  Mili 
tary  Police  of  the  Divisional  Intelligence  De 
partment  and  were  engaged  upon  'spy  work/ 
Atwell,  although  of  a  naturally  cheery  dispo 
sition,  occasionally  lapsed  into  fits  of  despond 
ency. 

"By  the  light  from  the  stump  of  candle  I  was 
making  out  my  previous  day's  report  to  turn 
in  to  Brigade  Headquarters.  At  intervals  the 
entrance  to  the  dugout  would  light  up  red  as  a 


108     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

shell  burst ;  the  candle  would  flicker  and  almost 
go  out  from  the  pressure  of  the  air.  My  mate 
was  sitting  on  his  pack,  his  back  leaning  against 
the  dank  and  muddy  wall  of  the  dugout.  Fin- 
ishing^my  report,  I  got  out  a  fag,  lighted  it,  and 
with  an  anxious,  lonely  feeling  hearkened  to  the 
roar  of  the  hell  outside.  A  long  drawn  sigh 
caused  me  to  look  in  Atwell's  direction.  The 
rays  from  the  candle  lighted  up  his  face,  the 
rest  of  his  body  being  in  semi-darkness.  Never 
before  in  my  life  had  I  seen  such  a  dejected  and 
woebegone  countenance.  This,  in  a  way, 
angered  me,  because  I,  myself,  right  then  had  a 
feeling  of  impending  disaster,  a  sort  of  dread, 
intermingled  with  a  longing  for  the  faraway 
fields  and  flowers  in  Blighty.  I  wanted  to  be 
cheered,  expected  it,  but  Atwell's  face  looked 
like  a  morgue. 

"Forcing  a  smile,  which,  in  comparison  no 
doubt  made  a  graveyard  look  like  a  musical 
comedy,  I  leaned  over,  slapped  him  on  the  knee 
and  said: 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES     log 

'  'Come  out  of  your  trance  and  cheer  up. 
We  Ve  both  got  a  damn  good  chance  for 
Blighty  with  this  bombardment  on.' 

"Atwell  looked  in  my  direction,  and  in  a  tone 
which  I  had  never  heard  before  from  him,  an 
swered  : 

'  'I  've  been  out  here  since  '14.  I  've  buried 
many  a  mate' — (this  to  me  was  very  cheer 
ing) — 'and  I  Ve  seen  many  a  lucky  bloke  on  a 
stretcher  bound  for  Blighty,  and  many  an  un 
lucky  one  on  a  stretcher  bound  for  a  hole  in  the 
ground,  and  never  gave  it  a  thought,  but  right 
now  I  feel  that  my  stay  in  the  trenches  is  short.' 

"I  butted  in  with,  *  Cheer o,  mate,  we  all  get 
downhearted  at  times.  You  are  going  to 
march  into  Berlin  with  the  rest  of  us.' 

"  'March  into  Hell!'  Atwell  answered.  'I 
tell  you  that  I  am  going  to  click  it,  I  can  feel  it 
coming.  Whether  it 's  Blighty  or  a  wooden 
cross,  remains  to  be  seen.  I  Ve  had  something 
on  my  mind  since  September,  1914,  and  it 's 
been  worrying  me  pink.  I  'm  going  to  tell  you 


110     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

the  story  and  I  '11  give  you  my  oath  that  you  're 
the  first  one  that  ever  heard  it  from  my  lips. 
I  've  got  to  get  it  out  of  my  system.' 

"Just  then  came  a  whizzing  through  the  air. 
We  both  instinctively  turned  our  eyes  towards 
the  entrance  of  the  dugout  and  waited  for  the 
burst.  Nothing  happened. 

*  *  Another  bloomin'  dud,'  ejaculated  Atwell. 
'A  few  more  German  marks  gone  to  seed.' 
Then  again  the  gloomy  look  spread  over  his 
countenance.  I  was  getting  nervous  and  un 
easy.  Fritz  was  dropping  his  shells  too  near 
for  comfort.  Trying  to  hide  my  fear,  I  said: 

"  'For  th'  love  o'  Blighty,  Atwell,  crack  a 
smile.  Give  us  that  story  of  yours,  or  else  I  '11 
go  balmy.  You'd  better  get  it  off  your  chest, 
because  Fritz  is  replying  to  our  strafing,  and 
if  an  eight-inch  shell  ever  hits  this  dugout 
they  '11  need  no  wooden  crosses  for  us.  Our 
names  will  appear  on  the  Roll  of  Honour,  un 
der  the  caption  "Missing." 

"With  another  sigh  escaping  from  his  lips, 
which  sent  a  cold  shiver  up  and  down  my  spinal 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES     111 

column,  he  lighted  a  fag  and  started  in.  This 
is  what  he  told  me : 

"  'It  was  back  in  September,  1914.  You 
know  I  came  out  with  the  First  Expeditionary 
Force,  the  time  when  all  the  fighting  was  being 
done  in  the  open.  The  Germans  were  smash 
ing  everything  before  them  in  their  drive  to 
Paris.  Our  Brigade  was  one  of  the  few  op 
posed  to  Von  Kluck.  It  was  a  case  of  hold 
them  for  a  few  hours  and  then  retreat, — always 
retreat, — with  the  German  tide  lapping  our 
heels.  We  did  n't  even  have  time  to  bury  our 
dead.  The  grub  was  rotten,  and  we  were  just 
about  fagged  out,  dead  tired,  with  no  prospect 
of  relief  or  rest  in  front  of  us,  and  Hell  behind. 

"  'It  was  customary  for  small  patrols  of  ten 
to  twenty  men,  under  a  Sergeant,  to  recon 
noitre  on  our  flanks.  One  day  I  was  sent  out 
in  command  of  one  of  these  parties.  Oh,  yes,  I 
was  a  Sergeant  then,  but  I  lost  my  stripes, — no, 
I  was  n't  busted, — just  resigned  of  my  own  ac 
cord.  I  was  in  for  a  commission,  too,  but  of 
course  I  let  it  go  with  the  Sergeant's  stripes. 


112     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

Guess  I  was  lucky  at  that,  because  if  I  had  re 
ceived  it,  no  doubt  by  this  time  I  'd  be  pushing 
up  the  daisies  somewhere  in  France.  In  those 
days,  you  know,  officers  did  n't  last  long, — 
made  fine  targets  for  the  Bodies. 

'The  patrol  I  was  in  command  of  carried 
rations  for  three  days.  We  had  orders  to  scout 
around  on  our  left  flank,  keeping  in  touch  with 
the  advancing  Germans,  but  not  to  engage 
them, — just  get  information.  If  the  informa 
tion  was  valuable,  I  was  to  send  it  in  by  one  of 
the  men.  There  were  fourteen  of  us,  and  we 
were  mounted.  I  was  in  the  Lancers  then,  and 
was  considered  a  fair  rider, — got  transferred 
to  this  outfit  after  I  resigned  from  Sergeant, — 
guess  they  smelled  a  rat. 

"  'The  first  day  nothing  happened.  We 
just  scouted  around.  By  nightfall  we  were 
pretty  tired,  so  when  we  came  to  a  village, — 
was  n't  a  village  either;  just  five  or  six  houses 
clustered  around  a  church, — I  decided  to  go 
into  billets  for  the  night. 

"  'Riding  up  to  the  largest  house,  which  had 


A  SIREX  OF  THE  BOCHES     113 

a  stone  wall  running  around  its  garden,  I  dis 
mounted  at  the  gate  and  knocked  at  the  front 
door — the  house  was  on  a  sort  of  knoll.  Then 
the  sweetest  voice  I  ever  heard  called  out  in 
trembling  tones,  in  perfect  English,  too,  with 
just  the  suspicion  of  an  accent: 

"  *  "Who  is  there,  please?" 

"'I  answered:  "Just  a  few  English  Lan 
cers  who  desire  a  place  to  rest  for  the  night. 
The  barn  will  do.  We  don't  want  anything  to 
eat,  as  we  have  rations  with  us.  So,  if  you  will 
accommodate  us,  miss,  I  will  be  much  obliged." 
I  was  in  love  with  that  girl  before  I  saw  her — 
the  voice  had  done  the  trick.  She  answered: 
"Just  a  moment,  please,  until  I  ask  father." 
And  then  the  door  shut  and  the  light  disap- 
Deared.  We  did  n't  have  to  wait  long  before 
the  door  reopened,  and  she  called  to  me: 
"Father  bids  you  welcome,  and  so  do  I,  soldiers 
of  England!" 

"  'We  could  hear  her  dainty  steps  approach 
ing.  Then  she  opened  the  gate.  There  she 
stood  on  the  gravel  path  with  the  lantern  held 


114     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

shoulder  high.  I  trembled  all  over — thought 
I  saw  a  vision.  I  tell  you,  mate,  she  was  beau 
tiful.  One  of  the  kind  you  would  like  to  take 
in  your  arms,  but  would  n't  for  fear  of  crush 
ing.  No  use  for  me  to  try  to  describe  her,  it 's 
out  of  my  line ;  but  she  captured  me  heart  and 
soul.  There  I  stood  like  a  great,  big  boob, 
shaking  and  stuttering.  At  last  I  managed 
to  blurt  out  a  stammering,  "Thank  you,  miss." 
'  'She  showed  us  the  way  to  the  stables,  and 
stood  in  the  door  holding  the  lantern  so  we 
could  see  to  unsaddle.  I  was  fumbling  around 
with  the  buckles,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I 
could  n't  get  that  saddle  off.  One  of  the  men, 
with  a  wink  and  a  broad  grin,  came  over  and 
helped  me.  That  grin  got  my  goat,  so  on  the 
sly  I  kicked  him  on  the  shin.  He  let  out  an 
explosive  "damn."  After  that  the  silence  was 
painful,  only  broken  by  our  horses  impatiently 
champing  their  bits.  The  poor  fellow  felt  like 
a  fool,  and  I  felt  worse.  I  could  have  killed 
him  for  his  thoughtlessness.  But  our  embar 
rassment  was  short-lived.  A  silvery  laugh 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES     115 

came  from  behind  the  lantern,  a  laugh  that  was 
not  loud,  but  that  echoed  and  reechoed  among 
the  rafters  overhead, — even  the  horses  stopped 
to  listen.  I  can  hear  it  right  now,  Yank. 

*  'After  the  horses  had  been  unsaddled  and 
fed,  the  men  looked  appealingly  at  me.  I 
knew  what  they  wanted — they  were  dog-tired, 
and  dying  to  hit  the  hay.  Just  as  I  was  about 
to  ask  permission  for  them  to  turn  in,  the  angel 
butted  in  with: 

"Poor,  tired  soldiers,  sleepy  and  hungry. 
Come  right  into  the  house.  Father  has  some 
supper  and  wine  ready  for  you." 

'We  stammered  our  thanks  and  followed 
her  into  the  house  like  a  string  of  sheep,  I  in 
the  lead.  To  me  that  meal  was  a  dream.  She 
flitted  around  the  table,  filling  a  glass  here  and 
there,  laughing  with  us,  and  making  us  feel  at 
home.  The  war  was  forgotten.  By  this  time 
I  was  madly  in  love  with  her,  and  she  knew  it, 
for  when  she  leaned  over  my  shoulder  to  re 
plenish  my  glass  with  red  wine,  her  hair  would 
brush  my  cheek,  and  once  she  rested  her  hand 


116     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

on  my  shoulder  and  gave  it  just  the  slightest 
squeeze.     I  was  in  heaven. 

*  'It  was  getting  late,  and  the  wine  was  be 
ginning  to  tell  on  the  men.  They  were  falling 
asleep  in  their  chairs.  I  had  a  hard  job  wak 
ing  four  of  them  to  go  on  guard.  They  got 
their  rifles  and  were  standing  around  me  for 
instructions,  when  our  hostess  came  over  to  me, 
and,  resting  her  hand  on  my  arm,  with  again 
the  slightest  of  squeezes  and  pleading  eyes, 
interceded  for  them. 

"Sergeant,"  she  said,  "let  the  poor  boys 
sleep.  They  are  so  tired.  There  is  no  danger. 
The  Germans  are  miles  away.  I  know  this 
to  be  true.  Do  this  for  me."  And  again  that 
squeeze. 

'  'I,  like  a  fool,  listened  to  her,  and  gave  an 
unwilling  assent.  The  men  looked  their  grati 
tude.  Jean,  an  old  manservant,  led  them 
out  to  the  barn,  where  an  abundance  of  hay  had 
been  spread  for  their  beds.  I  was  following 
when  a  whisper  in  my  ear  made  my  head  swim : 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES     117 

" '  "Don't  go  yet,  my  Sergeant,  stay  with 
me." 

"  'I  stayed,  worse  luck. 

'We  sat  on  a  settee,  talking,  and  her  arm 
stole  around  my  waist.  I  was  n't  slow,  either, 
and  as  you  know,  mate,  I  have  a  pretty  good 
reach.  Once  she  spoke  to  me  in  French,  but  I 
shook  my  head  in  bewilderment.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  servant  returned,  and  Adrienne — 
she  told  me  her  name — called  him  to  her,  and 
said,  "Jean,  go  down  into  the  wine  cellar  and 
get  some  of  that  old  port  and  give  it  to  the 
soldiers  of  England.  Poor  boys,  it  will  warm 
them."  She  added  something  in  French  I 
could  not  understand,  then  she  said:  "Leave 
a  bottle  here  for  the  Sergeant  and  me." 

'  'I  protested  against  more  wine  for  the  boys. 
Her  pleading  overruled  my  good  judgment, 
and  I  consented.  The  servant  left  to  do  her 
mission,  and  I  proposed.  Her  answer  was  a 
kiss.  I  was  the  happiest  man  in  France. 

"  'Presently  Jean  returned  with  a  basketful 


118     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

of  bottles,  and  placing  one,  which  had  the  cork 
removed,  on  the  table,  he  silently  withdrew  in 
the  direction  of  the  stable. 

4  'Adrienne  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine  and 
offered  it  to  me,  but  as  my  head  was  already 
beginning  to  buzz,  I  refused  it.  With  a  shrug 
of  the  shoulders  and  a  peculiar  sort  of  smile, 
which  made  me  feel  ashamed  of  my  rudeness, 
she  said:  "Perhaps  my  Sergeant  will  refuse 
to  kiss  me." 

'This  came  as  a  jolt  to  me,  because  our 
English  girls  are  not  so  free  in  asking  for 
kisses.  I  fancy  something  in  my  face  betrayed 
my  feelings  in  the  matter,  for  she  came  right 
back  at  me:  "I  see  the  English  sergeant  does 
not  understand  the  customs  of  France, — " 
And  she  puckered  up  her  lips  and  I  kissed 
her. 

"  'Well,  mate,  as  is  usual  under  the  circum 
stances,  we  talked,  or  at  least  I  did.  She  did 
most  of  the  listening.  That  wine  sure  untied 
my  tongue ;  another  drink  or  two  and  I  would 
have  promised  her  Buckingham  Palace.  I 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES     119 

was  just  fool  crazy  in  love  with  her.  Once  I 
caught  her  stifling  a  yawn  when  I  was  in  the 
midst  of  one  of  my  verbal  barrages,  but  the 
pretty  smile  which  quickly  followed  once  again 
had  me  in  a  fool's  paradise. 

'  'My  back  was  to  the  door  leading  to  the 
stables.  Suddenly  it  opened.  I  sprang  for 
my  rifle  which  I  had  left  leaning  against  the 
table  close  at  hand.  It  was  n't  there.  I  faced 
around  and  there  in  the  door  stood  Lance  Cor 
poral  Hawkins.  A  pretty  looking  sight  he 
was,  with  hay  in  his  hair,  cap  gone,  and  no 
rifle.  One  look  at  his  eyes  was  enough.  They 
were  red  rimmed  and  watery.  The  fool  was 
drunk,  I  could  see  that  at  a  glance,  but  he 
seemed  to  be  fighting  it  off;  he  wabbled  on  his 
pins,  blinked  his  eyes,  and  rubbed  his  fore 
head  with  his  hand  as  if  bewildered. 

'  'Angry  at  being  disturbed,  I  yelled  at  him, 
"Well,  what  do  you  want?  What 's  the  mat 
ter?" 

'This  seemed  to  sober  him  momentarily, 
because  he  blurted  out  in  a  thick  voice,  "  'Scuse 


120     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

me,  Sergeant,  but — hie, — back  in  Blighty, — 
I  could  drink  'em  all  under  the  table,  'ad  the 
name  for  a-doin'  it  in  the  pubs.  Was  cham- 
peen  of  'em  all — an'  I  know  this  blinkin'  red  ink 
I  been  a  drinkin'  ain't  made  me  drunk — hie — 
it 's  mighty  damned  queer"  (a  hard  look  from 
me)  "excuse  me,  Miss,  but  my  'ead  's  like  a 
buzz  saw." 

'  'I  was  getting  madder  and  madder. 
Adrienne  seemed  to  be  getting  fidgety.  She 
was  looking  around  nervously.  I  could  stand 
it  no  longer,  so  I  let  out  on  Hawkins. 

"  '  "You  get  back  to  that  stable,  you  drunk, 
you  're  a  disgrace  to  that  uniform ;  I  '11  attend 
to  you  in  the  morning.  You  're  under  ar 
rest."  Hawkins  didn't  move  and  after  a 
strong  effort  started  talking,  more  to  himself 
than  to  me, — he  seemed  in  a  daze. 

"  '  "Sergeant,  I — there  's  a  horse — there  's 
a  horse,  it 's  missing — the  rifles  are  gone — 
can't  find  a  nary  one — only  thirteen  horses — 
one  from  fourteen  's  thirteen — had  fourteen — 
one  from  thirteen  's  fourteen — " 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES     121 

"  'I  looked  for  my  rifle.  Adrienne  smiled 
at  me  and  reassuringly  pointed  to  the  far 
corner  of  the  room.  There  was  my  rifle.  But 
how  did  it  get  there?  I  was  getting  alarmed 
and  uneasy.  Noting  this,  Adrienne  with  her 
sweetest  smile  said, — 

"  *  "I  see  my  Sergeant  is  not  used  to  our 
French  wine;  it  plays  many  tricks  on  the 
mind."  And  she  glanced  significantly  at 
Hawkins. 

'  'Hawkins,  giving  me  a  wondering  look, 
mumbled,  "Sergeant 's  got  same  kind  of  drunk 
— hie — I  got — rifles  walk — hie — horses  fly." 

'  'Adrienne  gave  me  a  look  of  disdain  which 
decided  me.  Turning  to  Hawkins,  I  or 
dered, — 

"You  get  back  to  that  stable,  quick;  not 
another  word  from  you.  I  tell  you,  you  are 
drunk." 

'  'Hawkins  gave  me  a  sarcastic  salute  and 
muttered  loud  enough  for  me  to  hear,  "Ser 
geant  has  more  brains  than  Lance  Corporal — 
or'  would  n't  be  sergeant — don't  know  there  's 


122     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

a  war  on — thinks  this  is  a  blinkin'  peace  time 
maneuver — ter  'ell  with  the  bloody  horses— 
a  bloomin'  rifle  's  only  extra  weight."     Then 
he  turned  around  and  stumbled  out  of  the 
door. 

*  'I  was  mad  to  the  core.  Still  I  was  un 
easy  about  Hawkins's  report  concerning  the 
rifles  and  horses  and  intended  immediately  to 
investigate. 

1  'Adrienne  came  over  to  me  and,  putting  a 
hand  on  each  of  my  shoulders,  looked  up  into 
my  eyes  and  said,  "My  sergeant  has  taken 
too  much  wine.  I  am  sorry.  I  thought  he 
was  strong  and  could  laugh  at  such  trifles,  but 
I  see  I  was  mistaken." 

'This  sent  me  up  in  the  air  completely.  I 
would  show  her.  Removing  her  hands  from 
my  shoulders,  I  reached  for  the  glass  of  wine. 
She  gently  took  it  from  me  and,  just  touching 
the  edge  of  the  glass  to  her  pretty  lips,  passed 
it  back  and  said  in  a  voice  of  silver,  "Drink, 
my  Sergeant,  drink  to  our  betrothal.  Drink 
to  the  honour  of  France.  Drink  to  the  honour 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES     123 

of  England.     Drink  to  the  confusion  of  our 
enemies." 

"  'I  drank  with  my  fool  heart  pounding 
against  my  ribs. 

"  'She  started  to  fade  into  a  mist, — she  was 
laughing — there  were  three  Adriennes — why 
was  the  table  floating  in  the  air — the  horses — 
the  rifles — we  had  been  betrayed — crash — bang 
— a  shell  hit  the  house.  Then  blackness. 

'When  I  awoke,  I  was  lying  on  the  floor. 
My  head  seemed  to  be  bursting  with  pain. 
The  gray  dawn  was  filtering  through  the  cur 
tained  windows,  and  there  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  with  my  Adrienne  in  his  arms,  stood 
a  captain  of  Uhlans.  I  was  a  prisoner.  I 
saw  it  all  in  a  flash.  She  had  betrayed  me. 
Now  I  knew  why  she  had  wanted  no  guard 
posted, — why  the  horse  was  missing,  the  rifles 
gone.  The  wine  we  pledged  our  troth  in  was 
drugged.  What  an  ass  I  had  been!  Haw 
kins  was  right. 

'  'I  closed  my  eyes  and  pretended  to  be 
asleep.     They     were     talking     in     German. 


124     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

Pretty  soon  the  captain  came  over  and  roughly 
shook  me.  I  only  grunted.  With  an  excla 
mation  of  disgust,  he  called  out  in  German. 
Two  troopers  came  in,  and,  lifting  me  by  the 
shoulders  and  feet,  carried  me  out  into  the 
air.  I  slightly  opened  my  eyes,  and  saw  that 
I  had  been  carried  out  to  the  gate,  where  two 
horses  were  standing  with  their  reins  thrown 
over  a  hitching  post.  By  the  equipment  I 
knew  one  of  the  horses  belonged  to  the  cap 
tain,  while  the  other  was  the  orderly's.  The 
two  troopers  dumped  me  down  on  the  road, 
one  giving  me  a  kick  with  his  boot.  I  was 
lying  on  my  left  side,  and  by  a  certain  hard 
pressure  on  my  ribs,  I  knew  they  had  neglected 
to  search  me.  That  pressure  was  my  auto 
matic  pistol.  A  feeling  of  exultation  rushed 
over  me.  I  had  a  fighting  chance. 

"  'Fate  worked  into  my  hands.  A  hail  in 
German  came  from  the  stables,  and  one  of  the 
troopers  left  to  answer  it.  The  odds  were 
even,  one  against  one.  I  slowly  turned  over 
on  my  face,  as  if  in  sleep,  and  my  fingers 


A  SIREX  OF  THE  BOCHES     125 

grasped  the  butt  of  the  automatic.  But  just 
then  I  heard  steps  on  the  gravel  walk.  The 
captain  and  Adrienne  were  coming  toward 
me.  She  stopped  beside  me,  and  said  in  Eng 
lish:  "You  poor  English  fool!  Make  love 
to  me,  will  you?  Good-bye,  my  idiotic  ser 
geant.  While  you  are  rotting  in  prison,  think 
of  your  Adrienne,  bah!" 

'  'My  hand  gave  the  butt  of  my  automatic 
just  the  slightest  squeeze.  I  was  thinking  of 
her  hand  on  my  shoulder.  Well,  two  could 
play  that  game. 

'The  captain  said  something  to  the  orderly, 
who  left  in  the  direction  of  the  house.  Now 
was  my  chance.  Springing  to  my  feet  and 
leveling  the  pistol  at  the  captain,  I  grabbed  the 
reins  of  his  horse  from  the  post  and  mounted. 
The  orderly  came  running  toward  me,  yelling 
out  in  German,  and  I  could  see  Uhlans  emerg 
ing  from  the  stable.  I  had  to  work  quickly. 

'When  I  mounted,  the  captain  reached  for 
his  revolver.  I  covered  him  with  mine.  With 
a  shriek  of  terror,  Adrienne  threw  herself  on 


126     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

his  breast  to  protect  him.  I  saw  her  too  late. 
My  bullet  pierced  her  left  breast,  and  a  red 
smudge  showed  on  her  white  silk  blouse  as  she 
sank  to  the  ground.  I  shot  the  orderly's  horse 
to  prevent  immediate  pursuit.  Then  I  set  off 
at  a  mad  gallop  down  the  road.  It  was  a  long 
chase,  but  I  escaped  them. 

'  'So  that  is  my  story,  Yank.  Just  for 
get  that  I  ever  told  it  to  you.  Enough  to  make 
a  fellow  get  the  blues  occasionally,  is  n't  it  ? 
Just  pass  me  a  fag,  and  take  that  look  off  your 
face.' 

"I  gave  him  the  cigarette,  and,  without  a 
word,  went  out  of  the  dugout,  and  left  him 
alone.  I  was  thinking  of  Adrienne.  Upon 
reaching  the  trench  I  paused  in  wonder  and 
fright.  The  sky  was  alight  with  a  red  glare. 
The  din  was  terrific.  A  constant  swishing  and 
rushing  through  the  air,  intermingled  with  a 
sighing  moan,  gave  testimony  that  our  batter 
ies  were  sweating  blood.  The  trench  seemed 
to  be  rolling  like  a  ship.  I  stood  in  awe.  This 
bombardment  of  ours  was  something  inde- 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES     127 

scribable,  and  a  shudder  passed  through  me  as 
I  thought  of  the  havoc  and  destruction  caused 
in  the  German  lines.  At  that  moment  I  really 
pitied  the  Germans,  but  not  for  long ;  suddenly 
hell  seemed  to  burst  loose  from  the  German 
lines  as  their  artillery  opened  up.  I  could 
hear  their  5.9's  screeching  through  the  air  and 
bursting  in  the  artillery  lines  in  our  rear.  Oc 
casionally  a  far  off  rum-rum-rump-rump- 
Crash!  Bru-u-un-nn-ng-g !  could  be  heard  as 
one  of  their  high  calibered  shells  came  over  and 
burst  in  our  reserve.  I  crouched  against  the 
parados,  hardly  able  to  breathe.  While  in 
this  position,  right  overhead,  every  instant  get 
ting  louder,  came  a  German  shell — whi-z-z! 
bang-g-g!  I  was  blinded  by  the  flash.  Down 
I  went,  into  the  mud.  Struggling  to  my  feet 
in  the  red  glare  of  the  bombardment,  I  saw 
that  the  traverse  on  my  left  had  entirely  dis 
appeared.  Covered  with  mud,  weak  and 
trembling,  I  staggered  to  my  feet,  and  again 
rested  against  the  parados,  trembling  with  fear. 
I  could  hear  what  sounded  like  far  distant 


128     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

voices  coming  from  the  direction  of  the 
bashed-in  traverse. 

'  'Blime  me,  get  'is  bloomin'  napper  out  a 
th'  mud ;  'e  's  chokin'  to  death.  Pass  me  a 
bandage — tyke  'is  b'yonet  fer  a  splint.  Blime 
me,  'is  leg  is  smashed,  not  'arf  h'it  h'ain't.  Th' 
rest  o'  you  blokes  'op  it  fer  a  stretcher.  'Ello, 
'e  's  got  another  one — quick,  a  tourniquet,  the 
poor  bloke  's  a-bleedin'  to  death.  Quick,  h'up 
against  the  parapet,  'ere  comes  another.' 

"  Whiz-z-z !     B  ang-g-g ! 

"Another  flare,  and  once  again  I  was  thrown 
into  the  mud.  I  opened  my  eyes.  Bending 
over  me,  shaking  me  by  the  shoulder  and  yell 
ing  into  my  ear,  was  Atwell.  His  voice 
sounded  faint  and  far  away.  Then  I  came  to 
with  a  rush. 

'  'Blime  me,  Yank,  that  was  a  close  one. 
Did  it  get  you?' 

"He  helped  me  to  my  feet  and  I  felt  my 
self  all  over.  Seeing  I  was  all  right,  he  yelled 
into  my  ear : 

"  'We  've  got  to  leg  it  out  of  'ere,     Fritz  is 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES     129 

sure  sendin'  over  whizz-bangs  and  Minnies. 
Number  9  platoon  in  the  next  firebay  sure 
clicked  it.  About  eighteen  of  them  have  gone 
West.  Come  on,  we  '11  see  if  we  can  do  any 
thing  for  the  poor  blokes.' 

"We  plowed  through  the  mud  and  came  into 
the  next  firebay.  In  the  light  of  the  bursting 
shells  an  awful  sight  met  our  eyes.  The 
traverses  were  bashed  in,  the  firestep  was  gone, 
and  in  the  parados  was  a  hole  that  looked  like 
a  subway  entrance.  There  was  mud  and  blood 
all  around.  An  officer  of  the  Royal  Army 
Medical  Corps  and  several  stretcher-bearers 
were  working  like  Trojans.  We  offered  our 
aid,  which  was  gladly  accepted. 

"Every  now  and  then  ducking  as  a  whizz- 
bang  or  Minnie  came  over,  we  managed  to  get 
four  of  the  wounded  on  the  stretchers,  and 
Atwell  and  I  carried  one  to  the  rear  to  the 
First  Aid  Dressing  Station.  We  passed  the 
dugout  which  I  had  left  a  few  minutes  before, 
or,  at  least,  what  used  to  be  the  dugout,  but 
now  all  that  could  be  seen  was  a  caved-in  mass 


130     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

of  dirt;  huge,  square-cut  timbers  sticking  out 
of  the  ground  and  silhouetted  against  the  light 
from  bursting  shells.  A  shudder  passed 
through  me  as  I  realized  that  if  we  had 
stayed  in  the  dugout  we  would  have  now  been 
lying  fifteen  to  twenty  feet  down,  covered  by 
that  caved-in  earth  and  wreckage. 

"Atwell  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of 
the  smashed-in  dugout  and,  as  was  his  wont, 
remarked :  'How  about  that  fancy  report  you 
were  writing  out  a  few  minutes  ago?  Did  n't 
I  tell  you  that  it  never  paid  to  make  out  re 
ports  in  the  front  line  ?  It 's  best  to  wait  until 
you  get  to  Headquarters,  because  what 's  the 
use  of  wasting  all  that  bally  time  when  you  're 
liable  to  be  buried  in  a  dugout'?' 

"Turning  my  head  to  listen  to  Atwell,  I  ran 
plump  into  a  turn  in  the  trench.  A  shout 
came  from  the  form  on  the  stretcher  we  were 
carrying:  'Why  in  the  bloody  'ell  don't  you 
blokes  look  where  you  're  a-goin'  ?  You  'd 
think  this  was  a  bloomin'  Picadilly  bus,  and  I 
was  out  with  my  best  girl  on  a  joy-ride.'  I 


A  SIREN  OF  THE  BOCHES     131 

mumbled  my  apologies  and  the  form  relapsed 
into  silence.  Then  the  muddy  Tommy  on  the 
stretcher  began  to  mumble.  Atwell  asked  him 
if  he  wanted  anything.  With  a  howl  of  rage, 
he  answered:  'Of  all  the  bloody  nerve, — do 
I  want  anything?  No,  I  don't  want  anything 
— only  a  bloody  pair  o'  crutches,  a  dish  of  "fish 
and  chips"  and  a  glawss  of  stout.' 

"When  we  came  to  the  First  Aid  Dressing 
Station  we  turned  our  charge  over  to  some 
R.  A.  M.  C."  (Royal  Army  Medical  Corps) 
"men,  and,  ducking  and  running  through  the 
communication  trench,  we  at  last  reached  one 
of  the  roomy  'Elephant  Dugouts.'  We  were 
safe.  Stumbling  over  the  feet  of  men,  we 
came  to  an  unoccupied  corner  and  sat  down 
in  the  straw.  Several  candles  were  burning. 
Grouped  around  these  candles  were  a  lot  of 
Tommies,  their  faces  pale  and  with  a  fright 
ened  look  in  their  eyes.  Strange  to  say,  the 
conversation  had  nothing  to  do  with  them 
selves.  They  were  sympathizing  with  the  poor 
fellows  in  the  front  line  who  were  clicking  it. 


132     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"I  must  have  dropped  off  to  sleep.  When 
I  awoke  it  was  morning,  and  after  drinking  our 
tea  and  eating  our  bread  and  bacon,  Atwell 
and  I  reported  to  Brigade  Headquarters,  and 
again  returned  to  the  front  line  trench." 


WINNING  A  D.  C.  M. 

As  TOLD  BY  IKEY 


WINNING  A  D.  C.  M. 

THE  gun's  crew  were  sitting  on  the  straw 
in  the  corner  of  the  billet,  apart  from 
the  rest  of  the  section.  The  night  before  they 
had  been  relieved  from  the  fire  trench,  and 
were  "resting"  in  rest  billets.  Their  "day's 
rest"  had  been  occupied  in  digging  a  bombing 
trench,  which  was  to  be  used  for  the  purpose 
of  breaking  in  would-be  bombers. 

Hungry  was  slicing  Away  at  a  huge  loaf 
of  bread,  while  on  his  knee  he  was  balancing 
a  piece  of  "issue"  cheese.  His  jack-knife  was 
pretty  dull  and  the  bread  was  hard,  so  every 
now  and  then  he  paused  in  his  cutting  opera 
tion  to  take  a  large  bite  from  the  cheese. 

Curly  whispered  to  Yank:  "Three  bob  to 
a  tanner,  Yank,  that  he  eats  the  cheese  before 
he  finishes  slicing  that  'rooty.' ' 

Yank   whispered   back:     "Nothing    doing, 

136 


136     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

Curly,  you  are  Scotch,  and  did  you  ever  see  a 
Scotchman  bet  on  anything  unless  it  was  a 
sure  winner?" 

He  answered  in  an  undertone :  "Well,  let 's 
make  it  a  pack  of  fags.  How  about  it,  Yank?" 

"That 's  a  bet,"  replied  Yank. 

(Curly  won  the  fags.) 

Sailor  Bill  was  sitting  next  to  Curly,  and 
had  his  dog,  Jim,  (named  after  his  former  pet 
dog,  Private  Jim) — a  scroggly-looking  cur, — 
between  his  knees,  and  was  picking  hard  pieces 
of  mud  from  its  paws.  Jim  was  wagging  his 
stump  of  a  tail  and  was  intently  watching 
Hungry's  operation  on  the  bread.  Every 
time  Hungry  reached  for  the  cheese,  Jim  fol 
lowed  the  movement  with  his  eyes,  and  his  tail 
wagged  faster.  Hungry,  noting  this  look, 
bit  off  a  small  piece  of  the  cheese  and  flipped 
it  in  Jim's  direction.  Jim  deftly  caught  it  in 
his  mouth,  and  then  the  fun  began.  Jim  hated 
cheese.  It  was  amusing  to  watch  him  spit  it 
out  and  sneeze. 

Ikey   reached  over,   took  the   candle,   and 


WINNING  A  D.  C.  M.          1ST 

started  searching  in  his  pack,  amid  a  chorus 
of  growls  from  the  rest  at  his  rudeness  in  thus 
depriving  them  of  light.  Yank  was  watching 
him  closely  and  suspected  what  was  coming. 
Sure  enough,  out  came  that  harmonica  and 
Yank  knew  it  was  up  to  him  to  start  the  ball  of 
conversation  rolling  before  Ikey  began  to  play ; 
for  after  he  had  once  started  nothing  short 
of  a  German  "five  nine"  shell-burst  would  stop 
him.  Yank  slyly  kicked  Sailor  Bill,  who  im 
mediately  got  wise,  and  then  Yank  broke  the 
ice: 

"Sailor,  I  heard  you  say  this  afternoon, 
while  we  were  digging  that  trench,  that  in  your 
opinion  darn  few  medals  were  really  won: 
that  it  was  more  or  less  an  accident  or  luck. 
Now,  just  because  your  D.  C.  M.  came  up  with 
the  rations,  and,  as  you  say,  was  wished  on 
you,  there  is  no  reason  in  my  mind  to  class 
every  winner  of  a  medal  as  'accidentally 
lucky.'  " 

This  medal  business  was  a  sore  point  with 
Sailor  Bill,  and  he  came  right  back: 


188     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"Well,  if  any  of  you  lubbers  can  tell  me 
where  a  D.  C.  M.  truly  came  aboard  in  a  ship 
shape  manner ;  that  is,  up  the  after  gang-plank, 
and  piped  over  the  side,  then  h'l  will  strike 
my  colors  and  lay  up  on  a  lee  shore  for  a  keel 
'auling." 

Ikey  had  just  taken  a  long,  indrawn  breath, 
and  his  cheeks  were  puffed  out  like  a  balloon, 
preparatory  to  blowing  it  into  the  harmonica 
which  he  had  at  his  lips.  But  he  paused,  and, 
removing  the  musical  instrument  of  torture,  ex 
ploded  : 

"Blime  me,  I  know  a  bloke  who  won  a  D. 
C.  M.,  and  it  was  n't  accidental  or  lucky,  either. 
I  was  right  out  in  front  with  him.  Blime  me, 
I  sure  had  the  wind-up,  but  with  French  it  was 
'Business  as  usual/  He  just  carried  on." 

The  rest  chirped  in,  "Come  on,  Ikey,  let 's 
have  the  story." 

"I  will  if  you  '11  just  let  me  play  this  one 
tune  first,"  answered  Ikey. 

He  started  in  and  was  accompanied  by  a 
dismal,  moaning  howl  from  Jim.  Ikey  had 


WINNING  A  D.  C.  M.          189 

been  playing  about  a  minute,  when  the  Orderly 
Sergeant  poked  his  head  in  the  door  of  the 
billet,  and  said: 

"The  Captain  says  to  stop  that  infernal 
noise." 

Highly  insulted,  Ikey  stopped  playing  and 
said,  "Some  people  'ave  no  idea  of  music.'* 
The  gun's  crew  unanimously  agreed  with  him. 

Somewhat  mollified,  he  started: 

"Corporal  French  is  the  same  bloke  who 
just  returned  from  Blighty  and  joined  the  3rd 
Section  yesterday. 

"We  were  'oldin'  a  part  o'  the  line  up 
Fromelles  w'y,  and  were  about  two  'undred 
yards  from  the  Germans.  This  sure  was  a  'ot 
section  o'  the  line,  h'against  the  Prussians,  an' 
it  was  a  case,  at  night,  o'  keeping  your  ears  an' 
eyes  open.  No  Man's  Land  was  full  o'  their 
patrols  and  ours,  an'  many  fights  took  place 
between  them. 

"One  night  we  would  send  over  a  trench- 
raiding  party,  an'  the  next  night  over  would 
come  Fritz. 


140     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"There  was  a  certain  part  o'  our  trench; 
nicknamed  'Death  Alley'  an'  the  company 
which  held  it  were  sure  to  'click'  it  hard  in 
casualties. 

"John  French — 'e  was  a  Lance  Corporal 
then — was  in  charge  o'  our  section.  This  was 
before  I  went  to  Machine  Gunners'  School  an' 
transferred  to  this  outfit.  This  French  cer 
tainly  was  an  artist  when  it  came  to  scoutin' 
in  No  Man's  Land.  'E  knew  every  inch  o' 
the  ground  h'out  in  front,  an*  was  like  a  cat — 
'e  could  see  in  the  dark. 

"On  the  night  that  'e  won  his  D.  C.  M.,  'e 
'ad  been  out  in  front  with  a  patrol  for  two 
hours,  an'  had  just  returned  to  the  fire  trench. 
A  sentry  down  on  the  right  o'  Death  Alley  re 
ported  a  suspicious  noise  out  in  front,  an'  our 
Captain  gave  orders  for  another  patrol  to  go 
out  an'  investigate. 

"Corporal  Hastings  was  next  on  the  list  for 
the  job,  but,  blime  me,  'e  sure  'ad  the  wind-up, 
an'  was  shakin'  and  tremblin'  like  a  dish  o' 
jelly. 


WINNING  A  D.  C.  M.          141 

"A  new  Lef tenant,  Williams  by  name,  'ad 
just  come  out  from  Blighty,  an'  a  pretty  fine 
officer,  too.  Now,  don't  you  chaps  think  be 
cause  this  chap  was  killed  that  I  say  he  was 
a  good  officer,  because,  dead  or  alive,  you 
would  'ave  to  go  a  bloomin'  long  way  to  get 
another  man  like  Williams.  But,  this  young 
Lef  tenant  was  all  eagerness  to  get  out  in  front. 
You  see,  it  was  'is  first  time  over  the  top. 
'E  noticed  that  Hastings  was  a  bit  shaky,  an' 
so  did  French.  French  went  up  to  the  officer 
an'  said: 

'  'Sir,  Corporal  Hastings  'as  been  feeling 
queer  (sick)  for  the  last  couple  of  days,  an' 
I  certainly  would  deem  it  a  favor  if  I  could 
go  in  'is  place.' 

"Now,  don't  think  that  Hastings  was  a 
coward,  because  'e  was  not.  The  best  of  us 
are  liable  to  get  the  'shakes'  at  times.  You 
know,  Hastings  was  killed  at  La  Bassee  a 
few  months  ago, — killed  while  goin'  over  the 
top. 

"There  were  seven  in  this  patrol, — Leftenant 


142     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

Williams,  Corporal  French,  myself  an'  four 
more  from  B  Company. 

"About  sixty  yards  from  Fritz's  trench  an 
old  ditch — must  have  been  the  bed  of  a  creek, 
but  at  that  time  it  was  dry — ran  parallel  with 
the  German  barbed  wire.  Linin'  the  edge  of 
this  ditch  was  a  scrubby  sort  o'  hedge  which 
made  a  fine  hidin'-place  for  a  patrol.  Why 
Fritz  had  not  sent  out  a  workin'  party  an'  done 
away  with  this  screen  was  a  mystery  to  us. 
French  leadin',  followed  by  Leftenant  Wil 
liams,  myself  third,  an'  the  rest  trailin'  behind, 
the  patrol  crawled  through  a  gap  under  our 
barbed  wire  leadin'  out  to  a  listenin'-post  in 
No  Man's  Land.  Williams  carried  a  revolver 
x — one  of  those  Yankee  Colts, — and  his  cane. 
Blime  me,  I  believe  that  officer  slept  with  that 
cane.  He  never  went  without  it.  The  rest 
of  us  were  armed  with  bombs  and  rifles,  bay 
onets  fixed.  We  had  previously  blackened  our 
bayonets  so  they  would  not  shine  in  the  glare 
of  a  star-shell.  Reachin'  the  listenin'-post, 
French,  under  orders  from  Williams,  told  us  to 


WINNING  A  D.  C.  M.          143 

wait  about  five  minutes  until  he  returned  from 
a  little  scoutin'  trip  on  his  own.  When  he  left, 
we,  with  every  nerve  tense,  listened  for  his 
comin'  back.  We  could  almost  'ear  h'each 
h'other's  'eart  pumpin',  but  not  a  sound  around 
the  listenin'-post.  Suddenly,  a  voice,  about  six 
feet  on  my  right,  whispered,  'All  right,  the 
way  is  clear;  follow  me  an'  carry  on.'  My 
blood  froze  in  my  veins.  It  was  uncanny  the 
way  French  approached  us  without  being 
heard. 

"Then,  with  backs  bendin'  low,  out  of  the 
listenin'-post  we  went,  in  the  direction  of  the 
ditch  in  front  of  the  German  barbed  wire.  We 
reached  the  scrubby  hedge  and  lay  down,  about 
six  feet  apart,  to  listen.  French  an'  the  offi 
cers  were  on  the  right  of  our  lines. 

"About  twenty  minutes  'ad  elapsed,  when 
suddenly,  directly  in  front  of  the  German  wire, 
we  could  see  dark,  shadowy  forms  rise  from 
the  ground  and  move  along  the  wire.  Sil 
houetted  against  the  skyline  these  forms  looked 
like  huge  giants  and  took  on  horrible  shapes. 


144     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

My  'eart  almost  stopped  beating.  Sixty-two 
I  'ad  counted  as  the  last  form  faded  into  the 
blackness  on  my  left.  A  whisper  came  to  my 
ear:  'Don't  move  or  make  a  sound;  a  strong 
German  raidin'  party  is  going  across.'  It  was 
French's  voice.  I  did  not  hear  him  approach 
me,  nor  leave — Yank,  he  must  have  got  his 
trainin'  with  the  Indians  on  your  Great  Plains 
along  the  Hudson  River."  (Yank  snickered, 
but  it  was  unnoticed  by  Ikey. )  "I  could  hear 
a  slight  scrapin'  noise  on  my  right  and  left. 
Pretty  soon  the  whole  reconnoiterin'  patrol 
was  laying  in  a  circle,  heads  in.  French  had,  in 
his  noiseless  way,  given  orders  for  them  to  close 
in  on  me,  and  await  instructions. 

"Leftenant  Williams'  voice,  in  a  very  low 
whisper,  came  to  us:  'Boys,  the  men,  in  our 
trenches  'ave  received  orders  not  to  fire  on  ac 
count  of  our  reconnoiterin'  patrol  bein'  out 
in  front.  A  strong  German  raidin'  party  has 
just  circled  our  left,  an'  is  makin'  for  our 
trench.  It 's  up  to  us  to  send  word  back.  We 
can't  all  go,  because  we  might  make  too  much 


WINNING  A  D.  C.  M.          145 

noise  and  warn  the  German  party,  so  it 's  up 
to  one  of  us  to  carry  the  news  back  to  the 
trench  that  the  raidin'  party  is  on  its  way. 
With  this  information  it  will  be  quite  easy  for 
our  boys  to  wipe  them  out.  But  it 's  up  to 
the  rest  of  us  to  stick  out  here,  and  if  we  go 
West  on  account  of  the  fire  from  our  trench, 
well,  we  have  done  our  duty  in  a  noble  cause. 
Corporal  French,  you  had  better  take  the  news 
back,  because  you  are  too  valuable  a  man  to 
sacrifice.' 

"French,  under  his  breath,  answered:  'Sir, 
I  Ve  been  out  since  Mons,  and  this  is  the  first 
time  that  I  've  ever  been  insulted  by  an  officer. 
If  this  patrol  is  going  to  click  it,  I  'm  goin'  to 
click  it  too.  If  we  come  out  of  this  you  can 
try  me  for  disobedience  of  orders,  but  here  I 
stick,  an'  I  '11  be  damned  if  I  go  in,  officer  or 
no  officer.' 

"Williams,  in  a  voice  husky  with  emotion, 
answered : 

"  'French,  it 's  men  like  you  that  make  it 
possible  for  our  little  Island  to  withstand  the 


146     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

world.  You  are  a  true  Briton,  an'  I  'm  proud 
of  you.' 

"I  was  hopin'  that  he  would  detail  me  to  go 
back,  but  he  did  n't.  Henderson  was  picked 
for  the  job.  When  Henderson  left,  Williams 
shook  hands  all  around.  I  felt  wet  all  over. 

"You  see,  fellows,  it  was  this  way :  Hender 
son  was  to  tell  the  men  in  the  trench  that  we 
had  returned  an'  that  it  was  all  right  for  them 
to  turn  loose  on  the  raidin'  party  with  their 
rifle  and  machine-gun  fire,  without  us  click 
ing  their  fire.  It  was  a  damned  big  lie,  but 
it  would  save  the  blokes  in  our  trench  from  a 
bloody  bashing.  That  Leftenant  Williams 
sure  was  a  lad,  not  'arf  he  were  n't. 

"The  next  twenty  minutes  of  waiting  was 
Hell.  Our  man  must  have  got  in  safe,  because 
from  out  of  the  blackness,  over  towards  our 
trench,  rang  that  old  familiar  '  'Alt !  who  goes 
there?'  I  recognized  Corporal  Johnson's 
voice  as  doing  the  challengin'  and  I  said  to 
myself,  'You  lucky  bloke,  Johnson,  in  a  trench, 
an'  me  out  here  to  click  it.'  We  hugged  the 


WINNING  A  D.  C.  M.          147 

ground  because  we  knew  what  was  comin'. 
Then,  a  volley  from  our  trench,  and  four  'type 
writers'  (machine-guns)  turned  loose.  Bullets 
cracked  right  over  our  head.  One  hit  the 
ground  about  .a  foot  from  me,  ricocheted,  and 
went  moanin'  and  sighin'  over  the  German 
lines. 

"Lef tenant  Williams  sobbed  under  his 
breath : 

*  'God,  we  're  in  direct  line  of  our  own  fire. 
The'trench-raidin'  party  must  have  circled  us.' 

"Our  boys  in  our  trenches  were  sure  doin' 
themselves  proud.  The  bullets  were  crackin' 
an'  bitin'  the  ground  all  around  us.  I  wished 
I  was  safe  in  Blighty,  or  jail,  it  didn't  mat 
ter. 

"In  between  our  trench  an*  our  party,  curses 
rang  out  in  German  as  the  Boches  clicked  the 
fire  from  the  English  trench.  Star-shells  were 
shootin'  into  the  air  an'  droppin'  in  No  Man's 
Land.  It  was  a  great,  but  terrible  sight  which 
met  our  eyes.  Fritz's  raidin'  party  was  bein' 
wiped  off  like  numbers  on  a  kid's  slate.  Ten 


148     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

or  fifteen  dark  forms,  the  remnants  of  the 
German  raidin'  party,  dashed  past  us  in  the 
direction  of  the  German  trench.  We  stuck 
close  to  the  ground.  It  was  our  only  chance. 
We  knew  that  it  would  only  be  a  few  seconds 
before  Fritz  turned  loose  from  his  trench.  We 
were  caught,  all  right,  you  see.  If  we  had 
legged  it  for  our  trench  we  would  have  been 
wiped  out  by  our  own  fire.  You  see,  our  boys 
thought  we  were  safely  in,  and  would  have  mis 
taken  us  for  Boches.  Up  went  Fritz's  star 
lights,  and  the  clock  jumped  twelve  hours, 
turnin'  midnight  into  the  blaze  of  moon,  and 
Hell  cut  loose.  Their  bullets  were  snippin' 
twigs  from  the  hedge  over  our  heads. 

"Suddenly,  the  fellow  on  my  left,  Mac- 
Cauley  by  name,  emitted  a  muffled  groan  and 
started  kickin'  the  ground:  then  there  was 
silence.  He  'ad  gone  West.  A  bullet 
through  the  napper,  I  suppose.  There  were 
now  five  of  us  left.  Suddenly  Leftenant 
Williams,  in  a  faint,  choking  voice,  ex 
claimed  : 


WINNING  A  D.  C.  M.          149 

"  'They  Ve  got  me,  French,  it 's  through  the 
lung' — and  then  fainter — 'you  're  m  command. 
So  that — '  His  voice  died  away. 

"Pretty  soon  he  started  moaning  loudly. 
The  Germans  must  have  heard  these  moans  be 
cause  they  immediately  turned  their  fire  on 
us.  French  called  to  me: 

*  *Ikey,  come  here,  my  lad,  our  officer  has 
clicked  it.' 

"I  crawled  over  to  him.  He  was  sittin'  on 
the  ground  with  the  Leftenant's  head  restin' 
in  his  lap,  and  was.  gettin'  out  his  first-aid 
packet.  I  told  him  to  get  low  or  he  would 
click  it.  He  answered : 

"  'Since  when  does  a  bloomin'  Lance  Cor 
poral  take  orders  from  a  bloody  private  ?  You 
tell  the  rest  of  the  boys,  if  there  's  any  of  them 
left,  to  leg  it  back  to  our  trench  at  the  double 
and  get  a  stretcher,  and  you  go  with  them. 
This  lad  of  ours  has  got  to  get  medical  atten 
tion,  an'  damned  quick,  too,  if  we  want  to  stop 
his  bleedinV 

"Just  then  a  German  star-shell  landed  about 


150     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

ten  feet  from  us,  an'  in  its  white,  ghostly  light 
I  could  see  French  sittin'  like  a  bloomin'  statue, 
his  hands  covered  with  blood,  tryin'  to  make  a 
tourniquet  out  of  a  bandage  an'  his  bayonet. 
I  told  the  rest  to  get  in  an'  get  the  stretcher. 
They  needed  no  second  urgin',  an'  soon  French 
was  left  there  alone,  sittin'  on  the  ground, 
holdin'  his  dyin'  officer's  head  in  his  lap.  A 
pretty  picture,  I  call  it.  He  sure  was  a  man, 
was  French;  with  the  bullets  crackin'  over 
head  and  kickin'  up  the  dirt  around  him." 

Just  then  Happy  butted  in  with:  "Were 
you  one  of  the  men  who  went  in  for  the 
stretcher?" 

Ikey  answered:  "None  of  your  damned 
business.  If  you  blokes  want  to  hear  this 
story  through,  don't  interrupt." 

Happy  vouchsafed  no  answer. 

"About  ten  minutes  after  the  fellows  left 
for  the  stretcher,  French  got  a  bullet  through 
the  left  arm." 

Sailor  Bill  interrupted  here: 

"How  do  you  know  it  was  ten  minutes?" 


WINNING  A  D.  C.  M.          151 

Ikey  blushed  and  answered: 

"French  told  me  when  he  got  back  to  the 
trench.  You  see,  he  carried  the  officer  back 
through  that  fire,  because  the  stretcher-bearers 
took  too  long  in  coming  out." 

Yank  asked  Ikey  how  Corporal  French,  be 
ing  wounded  himself,  could  carry  Leftenant 
Williams  in,  when  he  must  have  been  a  dead 
weight. 

Ikey  answered,  "Well,  you  blokes  give  me 
the  proper  pip,  and  you  can  all  bloomin'  well  go 
to  hell,"  and  he  shut  up  like  a  clam. 

Hungry  got  up  and  silently  withdrew  from 
the  circle.  In  about  ten  minutes  he  returned, 
followed  by  a  tall,  fair-haired  Corporal,  who 
wore  a  little  strip  of  gold  braid  on  the  left 
sleeve  of  his  tunic,  denoting  that  he  had  been 
once  wounded,  and  also  wore  a  little  blue  and 
red  ribbon  on  the  left  breast  of  his  tunic,  the 
field  insignia  of  the  Distinguished  Conduct 
Medal. 

Hungry,  in  triumph,  brought  him  into  the 
circle  an'  handed  him  a  fag,  which  he  lighted 


152     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

in  the  flame  from  the  candle  on  the  mess  tin,  an' 
then  Hungry  introduced  him: 

"Boys,  I  want  you  to  meet  Corporal 
French." 

We  shook  hands  all  around. 

Ikey  got  red  an'  was  tryin'  to  ease  out  of  the 
candle  light,  when  Sailor  Bill  grabbed  him  by 
the  tunic  and  held  him. 

Then  Hungry  carried  on:  "French,  I  'm 
goin'  to  ask  you  a  mighty  personal  question,  and 
I  know  you  '11  answer  it.  How  in  hell  did  you, 
hit  in  the  left  arm,  bring  Leftenant  Williams 
back  from  that  reconnoiterin'  patrol?" 

French  got  a  little  red,  an'  answered: 
"Well,  you  see,  boys,  it  was  this  way.  Ikey 
an'  I  stuck  out  there  with  him,  an'  taking  the 
slings  from  our  rifles,  Ikey  made  a  sort  of  a 
rope  which  he  put  around  my  shoulder  an' 
under  the  arms  of  the  Leftenant,  an'  Ikey  get- 
tin'  the  Leftenant  by  the  legs,  we  managed  to 
get  him  into  the  trench.  You  know,  I  got  a 
D.  C.  M.  out  of  the  affair,  because  I  was  the 
Corporal  in  charge.  Damned  unfair,  I  call 


WINNING  A  D.  C.  M.          153 

it,  for  they  only  handed  him  the  Military 
Medal.  If  the  true  facts  were  known  he  was 
the  bloke  who  deserved  the  D.  C.  M." 

They  all  turned  in  Ikey's  direction.  Sailor 
Bill,  in  his  interest,  had  released  his  hold  on 
Ikey's  tunic  and  Ikey  had  disappeared. 

Happy  asked  French  if  the  Leftenant  had 
died  in  No  Man's  Land.  French,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  answered:  "No,  but  the  poor  lad 
went  West  after  we  got  him  to  the  first  aid 
dressin'  station,  an'  next  day  we  buried  him 
in  the  little  cemetery  at  Fromelles.  He  sure 
done  his  bit,  all  right,  blime  me,  and  here  I 
am,  bloomin'  well  swankin'  with  a  ribbon  on 
my  chest." 

A  dead  silence  fell  on  the  crowd.  Each  one 
of  them  was  admirin'  the  modesty  of  those 
two  real  men,  French  an'  Ikey.  But  such  is 
the  way  in  the  English  Army, — the  man  who 
wins  the  medal  always  says  that  the  other  fel 
low  deserved  it.  An'  German  Kultur  is  still 
wonderin'  why  it  cannot  smash  through  the 
English  Lines. 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS  UNDER 
FIRE 

As  TOLD  BY  YANK 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS  UNDER 
FIRE 

OME  on,  Yank,  give  us  that  baseball 
story  you  promised,"  pleaded  Dick. 

"All  right.     Here  goes,"  answered  Yank. 

"We  were  sitting  on  the  firestep.  It  was 
bright  and  sunny  and  we  were  bubbling  over 
with  good  humor.  There  were  two  reasons  for 
this:  First,  our  Battalion  was  to  be  relieved 
at  nine  that  night  and  we  were  going  back  for 
a  two  weeks'  rest.  Second,  it  was  spring. 
We  could  smell  it  in  the  air.  Even  the  wind 
blowing  from  the  German  trenches  in  our  di 
rection  had  a  sweet  and  'springy'  smell. 

"About  thirty  yards  down  a  communication 
trench  'to  the  left'  was  an  orchard.  The  trees 
were  scarred  from  bullets  and  fragments  of 
shell ;  but  even  these  battered  trunks  could  not 

157 


158     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

resist  the  feel  of  spring,  for  here  and  there  on 
the  twigs  and  branches  could  be  seen  bursting 
buds.  Flitting  around  were  numerous  birds, 
chirping  or  sometimes  wrangling  among  them 
selves. 

"It  seemed  odd  that  birds  could  accustom 
themselves  to  war.  Occasionally  a  German 
shell,  or  perhaps  one  of  ours,  would  go  scream 
ing  over  the  orchard.  The  birds  did  not  seem 
to  mind  the  noise, — just  carried  on  with  their 
nest  building. 

"In  our  company  was  another  American, 
called  'Alex,' — his  last  name  doesn't  matter. 
Naturally,  we  were  very  chummy.  Alex  and 
I  were  the  chief  'Amusement  Promoters'  in 
the  company,  the  Tommies  constantly  looking 
to  us  for  some  new  diversion. 

"You  know  you  Tommies  seem  to  have  the 
idea  that  an  American's  chief  vocation  in  the 
United  States  is  to  invent,  and  keep  on  in 
venting.  Well,  this  bunch  was  just  like  the 
rest,  had  the  same  idea.  Of  course,  Alex  and 
I  did  not  in  any  way  try  to  dissipate  their  idea ; 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS       159 

in  fact  we  encouraged  it,  and  took  great  pride 
in  being  looked  up  to  in  this  way;  but,  believe 
me,  it  kept  us  hustling  to  keep  them  amused. 

"It  was  getting  too  warm  for  soccer  football, 
and  we  knew  as  soon  as  we  got  into  rest  billets 
that  the  issue  would  be  put  right  up  to  us, 
'How  are  you  going  to  amuse  us  while  we  are 
behind  the  lines?' 

"We  were  Americans,  and  red-blooded; 
spring  was  in  the  air,  and  our  thoughts  turned 
to  what  every  American  boy  is  thinking  of 
upon  the  arrival  of  spring — baseball. 

"I  turned  my  eyes  to  the  muddy  parados 
of  the  trench,  and  fixed  my  gaze  on  a  fragment 
of  German  shell  imbedded  in  the  mud.  Pretty 
soon  this  fragment  changed  into  a  baseball 
player,  with  mask,  protector  and  catcher's  mitt. 
He  was  crouching  behind  the  home-plate  and 
signaling  to  the  pitcher.  Just  then  Alex  said, 
'Say,  Yank,  I  wonder  if  we  could  teach  the 
Tommies  how  to  play  baseball.' 

"I  immediately  turned  in  his  direction.  He 
was  also  staring  at  that  fragment  of  shell. 


160     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"I  answered:  'Did  you  ever  try  to  teach  a 
Chinaman  how  to  speak  French?' 

"He  got  it  right  away.  A  dejected  look 
spread  over  his  countenance,  and  he  let  out  a 
long-drawn  sigh. 

"A  Tommy  sitting  on  my  right  butted  in 
with:  'Did  you  sye  byse-ball,  Yank?  Why, 
I  saw  a  gyme  in  London.  It 's  absurdly  easy 
to  plye,  but  I  cawn't  sye  I  fawncy  h'it.' 

"With  a  look  of  disgust  Alex  turned  to  me 
and  said,  'I  guess  you  're  right,  Yank,  it  would 
be  easier  to  teach  the  Chinaman  French!' 

"That  night  we  were  relieved  and  went  be 
hind  the  lines. 

"The  next  afternoon,  after  parade"  (drill), 
"we  were  sitting  in  an  orchard  drinking  tea. 
About  a  month  before,  Alex  and  I  had  taught 
the  Tommies  how  to  pitch  horseshoes.  There 
was  great  rivalry  among  the  different  squads, 
each  squad  having  a  team. 

"Just  then  Corporal  Watkins  came  over  to 
us  and  asked,  'Where  are  the  'orse-shoes,  I 
cawn't  find  'em?' 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS       161 

"Another  Tommy  answered:  'Strafe  me 
pink,  where  are  your  h'eyes?  Cawn't  you 
bloomin'  well  see  the  h'officers  usin'  'em  be'ind 
that  billet  over  there?  Blime  me,  they  're  al 
ways  a-gummin'  the  gyme.' 

"Sure  enough,  the  officers  were  using  our 
horseshoes. 

"Alex,  with  a  look  of  determination,  turned 
to  me,  and  said,  'Well,  here  goes,  Yank.  Steve 
Brodie  took  a  chance,  so  I  might  be  able  to 
get  away  with  this.' 

"Then,  turning  to  the  Tommies,  he  said,  'Did 
any  of  you  blokes  ever  hear  of  John  McGraw?' 

"Three  of  the  Tommies  answered,  'Yes.' 

"A  sunny  smile  and  a  look  of  hope  flitted 
across  Alex's  face,  and  he  breathlessly  asked, 
'Who  is  he?' 

"The  three  started  to  answer  at  once,  but 
Alex  majestically  extending  his  hand,  palm 
forward,  said,  'Get  in  line,  one  at  a  time.  Now, 
Perkins,  who  is  John  McGraw?' 

"Perkins  answered,  'Why,  'e  's  a  Lawnce 
Corporal  in  the  Royal  Irish  Rifles.' 


162     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"According  to  Alex's  look,  that  Tommy 
should  have  immediately  dropped  dead. 
Turning  to  the  next,  he  said,  'Thwaites,  for 
the  Love  o'  Mike,  who  is  he?' 

"Thwaites,  with  a  knowing  look,  answered, 
*  'E  runs  the  King's  Arms  Public  'ouse,  down 
Rye  Lane.' 

"With  a  piteous  look,  Alex  glanced  in  my 
direction  and  I  jerked  my  thumb  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  other  Tommy,  who  seemed  to  be 
bursting  with  suppressed  eagerness.  Alex 
looking  at  him,  ejaculated:  'Spit  it  out  be 
fore  you  choke.' 

"This  fellow,  with  a  superior  air,  turned  in 
the  direction  of  the  two  dejected  Tommies,  and 
answered,  'John  McGraw,  why  everybody 
knows  'im;  he  was  the  fellow  in  the  London 
Scottish  who  clicked  crucifixion  for  stealing 
the  rum  issue  at  Wipers.  'E  was  a  lad,  not 
'arf  he  were  n't.' 

"A  hissing  noise  issued  from  Alex's  lips, 
and  he  collapsed  like  a  punctured  toy  balloon. 
After  a  few  seconds  he  straightened  up  and 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS       163 

a  look  of  determination  came  into  his  eyes. 
Addressing  the  Tommies,  he  exploded:  'You 
blokes  are  enough  to  make  Billy  Sunday  take 
to  drink.  Now,  listen  here,  and  let  it  sink  in 
deep.  John  McGraw  is  the  manager  of  the 
New  York  Giants.  He  is  a  baseball  player; 
get  it?  A  baseball  player.  He  's  a  guy  what 
manages  a  baseball  team.  And  any  fellows 
who  can't  make  good  on  his  team,  or  in  the 
bush  leagues,  he  sends  'em  a  cricket  bat  with 
their  name  inscribed  on  it  and  pays  their  pas 
sage  to  England.  Get  me?' 

"Several  Tommies  took  exception  to  this, 
and  said  that  they  had  followed  cricket  all 
their  lives,  but  had  never  heard  of  any  Amer 
ican  cricketers  being  sent  over  by  Mr.  Mc 
Graw.  At  this  I  exploded  with  laughter,  and 
Alex  went  up  in  the  air.  Standing  up  and 
turning  to  the  bunch  under  the  trees,  pointing 
his  fingers  in  their  direction,  he  let  out: 

"  'Now  listen,  this  is  good.  I  'm  going  to 
send  down  to  the  Ordnance  Corps  and  get  a 
dozen  gimlets  and  some  funnels.  With  these 


164     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

gimlets  I  'm  going  to  bore  holes  in  your  nap- 
pers,  and  using  the  funnel  I  'm  going  to  pour 
into  those  garrets  of  yours  a  little  brains. 
Then,  after  you  Ve  acquired  gray  matter,  I  'm 
going  to  teach  you  the  great  American  game 
of  baseball;  and  then  when  through  teaching 
you,  I  'm  going  to  retire  to  the  Old  Soldiers' 
Home  as  physically  and  mentally  unfit,  be 
cause  I  know  the  job  will  put  me  there.' 

"The  Tommies  did  not  take  exception  to  his 
pointed  remarks  about  their  lack  of  brains. 
They  overlooked  this  because  they  were  very 
eager  to  learn  how  to  play  baseball.  A  chorus 
of,  'Go  to  h'it,  Yank,  that's  what  we  want; 
something  new  out  'ere  in  this  bloody  mess  of 
mud  and  "cooties."  Alex  said  that  we  would 
have  to  talk  the  matter  over,  and  beckoning  to 
me,  went  in  the  direction  of  the  billet.  I  fol 
lowed.  He  then  outlined  his  scheme. 

"We  were  to  form  two  baseball  classes, 
Alex  in  charge  of  one,  I  of  the  other.  On  the 
plaster  of  the  billet  we  carefully  scratched 
out  a  baseball  diamond,  and  then  called  the 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS       165 

Tommies  in.  They  sat  around  like  little  chil 
dren  in  a  school,  eagerly  intent.  For  two 
hours  we  explained  the  game  to  them.  When 
we  got  through  they  all  knew  how  to  play  base 
ball — on  paper.  We  dismissed  them,  telling 
them  another  class  would  be  held  the  following 
afternoon.  That  night  Alex  and  I,  around 
the  stump  of  a  candle,  went  into  details  for 
organizing  two  teams.  Everything  appeared 
rosy,  and  we  were  highly  jubilant.  A  Tommy 
eased  over  in  our  direction  and  innocently 
asked: 

'  'I  sye,  Yank,  is  n't  it  necessary  to  'ave 
byse-balls  and  clubs?  We  cawn't  very  well 
plye  without  'em.' 

"This  was  a  bomb-shell  to  us.  In  our  eager 
ness  and  excitement  we  had  quite  forgotten 
that  bats,  balls  and  gloves  were  necessary.  I 
thought  Alex  was  going  to  burst.  Letting 
out  a  'Well,  I  '11  be  blowed,'  which  nearly  blew 
the  candle  out,  he  turned  a  silly  look  in  my 
direction,  and  I  looked  just  as  cheap.  At  last 
the  Tommies  had  stumped  us,  and  we  could 


166     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

see  our  reputation  fading  into  nothing.  A 
dead  silence  reigned.  Then  Alex  started  to 
madly  open  his  haversack.  I  thought  he  had 
suddenly  gone  crazy.  I  reached  my  hand  in 
the  direction  of  my  bayonet,  fearing  that  he 
was  looking  for  a  Mill's  bomb.  When  he  drew 
his  hand  out,  hanging  to  his  fist  was  a  writing 
pad.  I  guiltily  let  go  of  my  bayonet.  Bor 
rowing  a  pencil  from  me  (Alex  was  always 
borrowing),  he  started  writing.  I  thought 
perhaps  he  was  going  to  commit  suicide  and 
was  writing  a  farewell  letter  home,  and  asked 
him  what  was  up.  He  whispered  to  me: 

'Yank,  we  're  two  bloody  fools  not  to  have 
thought  of  this  long  ago.  All  we  Ve  got  to  do 
is  to  write  home  to  one  of  the  New  York  papers 
asking  the  readers  to  send  out  baseball  stuff 
to  us  and  it  will  only  be  a  matter  of  a  few 
weeks  before  we  will  have  enough  to  equip  two 
teams.' 

"I  offered  to  write  the  letter,  and  with  Alex 
bending  over  me,  I  eagerly  wrote  an  appeal  to 
the  readers  of  the  New  York  Evening  Tele- 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS      167 

gram,  and  turned  the  letter  over  to  the  Mail 
Orderly. 

"We  then  explained  to  the  Tommies  that 
equipment  was  necessary  and  that  we  had  writ 
ten  home,  but  while  waiting  for  the  baseball 
stuff  to  arrive  we  would  carry  on  with  our  in 
struction  classes.  The  next  day  Alex  and  I 
made  a  woolen  baseball  out  of  an  old  puttee, 
fixed  up  a  temporary  diamond,  and  showed  the 
Tommies  the  general  run  of  the  game.  Their 
antics  were  awful.  If  we  had  used  regular 
baseballs  I  don't  think  there  would  have  been 
a  Tommy  in  the  squad  without  a  black  eye. 
Did  you  ever  watch  a  girl  trying  to  catch  a 
ball?  Well  a  girls'  team  alongside  of  some 
of  these  Tommies  would  have  looked  like  the 
winner  in  our  World's  Series.  It  was  hard 
work  keeping  their  interest  up. 

"Two  weeks  later  we  went  'up  the  line'; 
then  came  back  again  for  another  rest.  The 
interest 'in  baseball  was  dying  out  and  we  were 
at  our  wit's  end.  Time  passed,  and  we  figured 
out  that  we  should  be  hearing  from  our  appeal, 


168     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

but  nothing  came.  Then  once  again  we  went 
into  the  front  line  trench.  The  Tommies  were 
getting  very  skeptical  and  every  time  base 
ball  was  mentioned  they  would  gaze  in  our 
direction  with  a  sneering  look.  This  com 
pletely  got  our  goats. 

"One  evening  we  were  sitting  in  a  dugout 
of  the  support  trench:  it  was  raining  like  the 
mischief,  and  we  were  cold  and  downhearted. 
Pretty  soon  the  rations  came  up.  As  you 
know,  the  ration  party  generally  brings  the 
rations  down  into  the  dugouts,  but  the  two  men 
carrying  our  dixie  set  it  down  in  the  mud  of 
the  trench  and  almost  shot  the  chutes  down 
the  entrance  to  the  dugout.  They  were  breath 
less  with  excitement.  One  of  them  yelled  out : 

"Yank,  there 's  a  limber"  (small  two- 
wheeled  wagon)  "full  of  parcels  down  in  the 
Sergeant-Major's  dugout.  They  're  all  ad 
dressed  to  you,  and  they  're  from  America.' 

"Alex  let  out  a  shout  and  I  felt  warm  all 
over.  How  we  lorded  it  over  those  poor  Tom 
mies.  That  night  we  were  to  be  relieved  and 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS      169 

go  back  to  rest  billets.  We  could  hardly  wait 
for  the  time. 

"The  next  morning  was  Sunday,  and  after 
church  parade  we  made  a  mad  rush  to  the  Or 
derly  Room  to  get  our  mail.  The  Quarter 
master-Sergeant  was  waiting  for  me,  and  be 
hind  him  stood  every  officer  in  the  company, 
trying  to  disguise  the  expectant  look  on  their 
faces.  Every  eye  was  turned  in  the  direction 
of  a  heap  of  parcels.  I  thought  the  'Quarter' 
never  would  start.  Even  the  Captain  could 
not  stand  it,  and  suppressing  his  eagerness, 
said:  'Sergeant,  you  had  better  issue  the 
mail.'  Alex  and  I  were  breathless  with  anx 
iety. 

"Then,  stooping  down,  the  Sergeant  took 
up  a  parcel  and  read  off  my  name,  and  threw 
it  over  to  me.  I  caught  it  on  the  fly.  The 
Sergeant  kept  on  reading  out  'Yank'  and  par 
cels  came  through  the  air  like  a  bombardment. 
The  first  parcel  I  picked  up  was  stamped 
'Passed  by  Censor'  and  contained  twelve  brand 
new  balls,  or,  at  least,  eleven,  and  the  remains 


170     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

of  one.  This  twelfth  ball  was  stamped 
'Opened  by  Censor,'  but  search  as  I  could,  I 
could  find  no  stamp  reading  'Sewed  up  by 
Censor.'  We  did  the  sewing  up,  but  that 
ball  looked  like  a  duck's  egg  when  we  had 
finished.  Alex  and  I  roundly  cussed  the 
Censor.  Later,  we  both  cussed  the  inventor 
of  baseball.  There  was  a  reason. 

"The  readers  of  the  Telegram  had  nobly 
responded  to  our  appeal.  There  were  enough 
gloves  and  balls  for  two  teams,  and  even  a 
chest-protector  and  mask.  The  mask  was  an 
article  of  great  curiosity  to  all.  Some  of  them 
thought  it  was  a  bomb  protector.  Everyone 
in  turn  tried  it  on,  and  everyone,  upon  learn 
ing  that  the  catcher  was  to  wear  the  mask, 
wanted  to  immediately  sign  up  for  that  posi 
tion.  Alex  and  I  could  have  been  elected  to 
Parliament  right  there.  The  next  afternoon, 
the  candidates,  forty  in  all,  and  the  rest  of  the 
company,  turned  out  en  masse  on  the  baseball 
field,  which  we  had  laid  out  during  our  previous 
stay  in  rest  billets. 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS      171 

"From  that  day  on,  Alex  and  I  led  a  dog's 
life.  Though  on  paper  everything  looked 
bright,  and  the  candidates  were  letter  perfect 
in  the  game,  or  thought  they  were,  on  the  field 
they  were  dubs  of  the  worst  caliber, — regular 
boneheads.  If  McGraw  had  had  that  mob 
wished  on  him,  he  would  have  chucked  up  his 
job  and  taken  the  stump  for  Women  Suffrage, 
so  you  can  appreciate  our  fix. 

"Alex  was  a  really  good  pitcher;  plenty  of 
curved  stuff,  having  played  semi-pro  ball  in 
the  United  States.  It  was  my  intention  to 
catch  for  him,  and  fill  in  the  other  positions  with 
the  most  likely  candidates.  This  scheme  did 
not  work  in  with  the  popular  version  a  little  bit. 
Out  of  the  forty  trying  for  the  team,  twenty- 
eight  insisted  on  being  catcher.  They  wanted 
to  secure  that  mask.  If  there  had  been  a 
camera,  each  of  the  forty  would  have  had  a 
photo  taken  of  himself  wearing  the  'wire  cage.' 
Here  was  a  great  dilemma.  At  that  time  I 
was  only  a  private,  and  there  were  Sergeants, 
Corporals,  and  even  an  officer  who  wanted 


172     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

to  catch.  Alex  again  came  to  the  rescue. 
Calling  me  aside  he  said: 

"  'Leave  it  to  me,  Yank,  I  '11  fix  'em.  I  '11 
try  out  each  one  in  turn.  Let  him  wear  the 
mask,  and  I  '11  send  in  some  curves,  and  after 
the  ball  cracks  them  on  the  shins  a  couple  of 
times  you  could  n't  pay  'em  to  put  on  the  cage.' 

"The  Tommies  were  strange  to  curved  balls, 
and  Alex  had  speed.  It  did  my  heart  good  to 
see  him  dampen  their  ardor  and  dent  their 
anatomy  at  the  same  time.  The  Tommies 
would  see  the  ball  coming  to  them  and  would 
reach  up  their  hands  to  get  it.  Then  the  ball 
would  break  and  hit  them  on  the  shin  or  knee. 
After  five  or  six  had  retired,  rubbing  sore  spots 
and  cussing  Alex  out,  no  one  else  wanted  to 
catch,  and  the  situation  was  saved. 

"Tommy  is  a  natural  born  soccer  player  and 
clever  with  his  feet,  but  stupid  with  his  hands 
when  it  comes  to  baseball.  Several  of  them 
had  a  bad  habit  of  stopping  grounders  with 
their  feet,  especially  our  shortstop.  He  would 
see  a  hot  grass-eater  coming  his  way ;  then,  in- 


THE  FUSILLIER  GIANTS     173 

stead  of  using  his  hands,  he  would  put  the  side 
of  his  foot  in  front  of  it.  The  ball  would  climb 
his  leg  and  hit  him  in  the  chin  or  eye.  After 
receiving  a  puffed-up  lip  and  a  beautiful  black 
eye,  he  flatly  refused  to  play  unless  I  would 
let  him  wear  the  mask.  (Americans,  picture 
a  shortstop  wearing  a  catcher's  mask,  and  then 
sympathize  with  Alex  and  me.)  The  short 
stop  was  a  Sergeant,  and  through  diplomatic 
reasons  I  gave  the  mask  to  him.  At  this  every 
infielder  wanted  to  wear  it.  Alex  solved  this 
by  putting  in  another  shortstop  and  giving  me 
the  mask.  (In  England  they  have  a  game 
called  'Rounders/  in  which  you  are  supposed 
to  hit  the  base  runner  with  the  ball  to  put  him 
out.  This  is  generally  a  tennis  ball  and  does 
not  hurt  very  much.)  Well,  those  Tommies 
had  a  habit  of  lamming  the  baseball  with  all 
their  might  at  the  unfortunate  runner.  Many 
an  early  practice  was  broken  up  this  way,  be 
cause  the  team  would  lose  interest  in  baseball 
when  they  had  a  chance  to  view  a  fight  between 
a  giver  and  receiver. 


174     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"After  about  ten  days'  practice  we  had 
picked  two  pretty  fair  teams  and  arranged  for 
a  scrub  game.  Alex's  side  won,  thanks  to  his 
pitching.  Then,  as  is  usual  in  baseball,  things 
began  to  happen.  A  jinx  seemed  to  rest  on 
our  candidates.  Every  time  we  had  to  go  up 
the  line  on  a  working  party,  one  or  two  of  the 
players  would  get  wounded  or  killed;  in  fact, 
being  a  baseball  player  got  to  be  a  perfect 
Jonah,  and  the  Tommies  became  superstitious. 
If  one  of  our  team  happened  to  be  working 
among  ten  or  twelve  other  company  men,  he 
was  sure  to  get  hit,  while  the  other  fellows 
came  through  without  a  scratch.  Alex  and  I 
also  began  to  get  frightened,  and  decided  to 
chuck  up  the  whole  thing  before  we  clicked  it 
ourselves. 

"Then  we  went  further  back  behind  the  lines. 
During  this  stay  we  rounded  out  a  passable 
team.  A  Canadian  Battalion,  just  sent  out 
from  England  on  their  way  to  'Wipers,'  went 
into  billets  about  a  mile  from  us.  This  was 
our  chance.  Alex  went  over  and  proposed  a 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS      175 

game  with  them  for  the  following  Sunday. 
The  challenge  was  accepted.  We  had  a  week's 
time  in  which  to  strengthen  some  weaknesses 
and  to  teach  the  bunch  a  little  'inside'  baseball. 
Then  the  jinx  popped  up  again.  On  the 
morning  of  the  game  with  the  Canadians,  our 
cleverest  infielder,  the  first  baseman,  picked  up 
an  old  German  hand  grenade,  and  brought  it 
to  the  billet.  This  man  was  a  great  souvenir 
collector;  always  hammering  at  'dud'  shells, 
trying  to  remove  the  nose-caps. 

"On  seeing  him  fooling  around  with  the  Ger 
man  bomb,  I  told  him  to  throw  it  away,  saying 
that  one  could  never  trust  those  things,  and 
that  I  did  not  want  to  take  any  chances  of  los 
ing  a  first  baseman;  but  being  of  a  naturally 
curious  disposition,  he  refused  to  do  so,  and 
taking  the  bomb  out  behind  the  billet  proceeded 
to  take  liberties  with  its  mechanism:  result, 
right  hand  blown  off,  and  another  vacancy  to 
be  filled  at  first  base.  What  we  said  about  him 
would  have  met  with  the  highest  approval  of 
exponents  of  German  Kultur. 


176     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"The  game  was  scheduled  for  two  o'clock, 
and  at  exactly  one-thirty-five  Mr.  Fritz 
plunked  a  stray  'five-nine'  shell  into  our  infield 
between  home  and  first  base,  making  a  hole  big 
enough  for  a  limber  to  hide  in.  This  meant 
picks  and  shovels  for  all  hands  to  fill  in  the 
hole.  By  this  time  a  large  crowd  of  rooters 
of  both  sides  had  lined  themselves  along  the 
foul  lines.  The  compliments  that  were  wafted 
back  and  forth  made  the  Sky  Pilot  pick  up  and 
leave  before  the  game  started. 

"Betting  waxed  hot  and  furious.  I  don't 
believe  there  was  a  loose  penny  in  the  crowd 
after  all  bets  had  been  placed.  Alex  and  I 
tried  to  discourage  this  betting  because  we 
knew  that  if  our  side  lost  we  would  be  ostra 
cised  from  that  time  on.  We  explained  to 
the  Tommies  that  the  Canadians  were  base 
ball  players,  and  that  we  were  in  for  an  awful 
trimming,  but  they  wouldn't  listen,  saying 
that  anybody  who  could  make  a  ball  curve  in 
the  air  the  way  Alex  could  was  enough  to  win 
for  any  team,  and  all  the  Canadians  could  do 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS      177 

was  to  strike  out.     We  argued  no  further,  just 
sighed  after  losing  the  toss. 

"We  came  to  bat  first.  Our  first  man  up 
got  beaned,  and  instead  of  taking  first  base  he 
went  out  in  the  pitcher's  box  to  lick  the  pitcher. 
After  a  little  argument  we  managed  to  get  him 
on  first.  The  Canadian  pitcher  was  wild. 
The  next  ball  went  over  the  catcher's  head  and 
our  runner  took  second.  The  next  man  up 
struck  out.  I  batted  third,  hit  to  the  outfield, 
the  right  fielder  dropped  the  ball,  and  I  reached 
second.  The  runner  ahead  of  me  walked  to 
third  base.  Then  Alex  got  up  and  placed  a 
corking  double  out  into  left  field.  Alex  was 
a  fast  runner.  I  started  for  home,  touched 
third,  the  runner  in  front  of  me  plowing  along 
for  home-plate.  He  ran  like  an  ice  wagon. 
I  was  shouting  to  him  to  hurry  up.  I  could 
hear  Alex  pounding  behind  me.  The  Tom 
my's  hat  blew  off,  and  instead  of  going  home 
he  stopped  to  pick  up  his  hat.  Alex  was 
shouting,  'Leg  it,  here  comes  the  ball,'  as  he 
slid  into  third  base.  Upon  this  the  runner  in 


178     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

front  of  me  ran  back  to  third.  I  could  not 
precede  the  runner  in,  and  we  were  trapped  on 
a  double  play.  The  Canadian  rooters  were 
tickled  to  death,  and  their  sarcastic  remarks 
burned  into  Alex  and  me.  Alex  was  fast  los 
ing  his  temper. 

The  first  two  Canadians  struck  out,  nearly 
breaking  their  backs  trying  to  connect  with 
Alex's  outcurves.  The  third  man  up  got  his 
base  on  a  passed  third  strike,  my  error. 

"Then  our  substitute  first  baseman  pulled  a 
stunt  which  turned  the  tables  on  the  Canadians. 
The  Canadian  was  lying  a  few  feet  off  first 
base.  Suddenly  our  first  baseman  shouted  at 
him,  'Look  out,  'ere  comes  a  shell,  duck  low.' 
The  Canadian  dropped  to  the  ground.  No 
'shell.  Alex  instantly  sized  up  the  situation 
and  tossed  the  ball  to  the  first  baseman,  who 
touched  the  runner  lying  on  the  ground  three 
feet  from  the  bag.  This  retired  the  side.  We 
had  gotten  our  own  back.  Alex  and  I  both 
could  have  kissed  that  rube  first  baseman  of 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS       179 

ours.  Right  then  and  there  we  put  him  in  a 
class  with  Hal  Chase. 

"Up  to  the  fourth  inning  neither  side  scored. 
Alex  was  pitching  in  fine  form.  The  Canad 
ians  just  could  n't  connect  with  his  delivery. 
All  they  could  do  was  to  fan  the  air.  The 
Canadian  rooters  commenced  to  get  frightened 
and  they  saw  their  money  going  into  Tommies' 
pockets.  They  had  the  greatest  contempt  for 
the  rest  of  the  team,  myself  included,  but  real 
ized  that  if  Alex  did  not  weaken,  it  would  be  a 
case  for  them  to  go  back  to  billets  broke. 

"Then  old  Mr.  Jinx  butted  in  again,  and  it 
happened." 

(In  the  British  Army  there  is  an  order  to 
the  effect  that  gas  helmets  must  be  carried  at 
all  times,  even  while  sleeping.  To  evade  this 
order  is  a  serious  offense,  and  means  immediate 
confinement.  These  gas  helmets  are  in  a  can 
vas  bag  and  are  slung  around  the  left  shoulder 
by  means  of  a  canvas  strap.) 

"In  pitching,  Alex's  gas  helmet  bothered 


180     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

him  greatly,  and  after  the  second  inning  he 
took  it  off.  I  warned  him  to  be  careful,  be 
cause  I  noticed  several  Military  Police  in  the 
crowd.  But  Alex  wouldn't  listen.  He  al 
ways  was  pig-headed.  Suddenly  one  of  the 
Canadian  players  spotted  that  Alex  had  laid 
aside  his  helmet,  and  artfully  communicated 
this  fact  to  the  rest  of  his  team's  rooters,  I 
noticed  the  rooters  crowd  around  him  for  three 
or  four  minutes,  and  then  a  great  laugh  went 
up  and  they  again  stretched  out  along  the  foul 
lines. 

"Suddenly,  one  fellow,  getting  out  in  front 
of  the  bunch,  like  a  cheer  leader,  counted,  'One, 
Two,  Three.'  Then  up  went  a  mighty  chorus 
of  'Hey,  Alex,  where 's  your  gas  helmet, 
where  's  your  old  gas  bag.'  They  kept  this  up 
until  it  got  Alex's  goat.  I  went  out  into  the 
pitcher's  box  and  warned  him  to  put  it  on,  but, 
still  pig-headed,  he  refused  to  do  so.  He  was 
in  an  awful  temper. 

"A  Sergeant  of  the  Military  Police  was 
watching  the  game,  and  hearing  the  cries  of 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS       181 

the  rooters  he  walked  out  on  the  diamond  and 
asked  Alex  where  his  helmet  was.  By  this  time 
Alex  had  completely  lost  his  temper,  and  an 
swered  with  a  sneer:  'Where  do  you  think 
it  is ;  I  sent  it  home  for  a  souvenir.'  The  Ser 
geant  explained  to  him  that  it  was  against 
Army  orders  to  be  without  gas  helmet,  and  that 
he  had  better  put  it  on.  Alex  would  not  listen 
to  him,  and  answered :  'Well,  if  it 's  against 
orders,  get  them  rescinded.'  The  Sergeant 
immediately  put  him  under  arrest  and  marched 
him  off  the  diamond.  Our  hopes  were  dashed ; 
I  could  see  the  game  going  West.  We  had 
no  other  good  pitcher  to  go  in. 

"Upon  seeing  Alex's  arrest,  the  Canadian 
rooters  kept  up  their  gleeful  shouting.  We 
were  sure  up  against  it.  Here  was  the  situa 
tion.  It  was  the  last  half  of  the  fourth  inning, 
and  two  were  out.  If,  by  luck,  we  managed 
to  get  the  third  Canadian  out,  it  would  be  an 
easy  matter  for  them  to  retire  us  during  our 
half  of  the  next  inning,  because  our  weakest 
batting  order  was  up.  Then,  the  Canadians 


182     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

would  get  busy  and  the  slaughter  would  com 
mence.  I  was  in  despair.  Alex  must  have 
realized  that  the  game  was  hopeless  unless  it 
could  be  finished  in  this  inning,  because  as  he 
passed  me  he  whispered,  'Watch  out  for  gas; 
I  '11  make  them  hunt  for  their  gas  helmets. 
It  '11  be  a  long  time  before  that  bunch  of  maple 
leaves  forget  this  game.  Now,  get  wise.  De 
lay  the  game  as  much  as  possible  while  getting 
a  dub  ready  to  pitch  in  my  place.  Then  watch 
for  happenings.  Get  me?  Are  you  wise?' 

"I  did  n't  'get  him,'  nor  was  I  'wise/  but  I 
answered  in  the  affirmative.  I  followed  his 
instructions,  while  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye 
I  watched  him  on  his  way  to  the  company  bil 
let.  He  called  to  a  man  named  Stein,  a  mem 
ber  of  our  company,  who  thought  no  more  of 
losing  a  franc  than  he  did  of  having  his  right 
arm  shot  off.  Stein  went  over  to  Alex,  who 
whispered  to  him  and  then  handed  him  some 
thing.  What  struck  me  as  strange  was  the 
fact  that  Stein,  who  had  fifteen  francs  on  the 
game,  instead  of  coming  back  to  watch  the 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS       183 

game,  disappeared  behind  the  billet,  while  Alex 
was  marched  off  to  'clink.'  The  rooters  were 
getting  impatient,  so  I  put  a  big  Welshman 
in  to  pitch.  I  told  the  umpire,  a  Battalion 
Sergeant-Major,  that,  according  to  rules,  a 
pitcher  being  put  in  'cold'  was  allowed  four 
balls  over  the  plate  to  warm  up.  The  umpire 
agreed  to  this.  I  whispered  to  the  Welsh 
man,  'Get  out  in  that  box,  and  take  your  time, 
delaying  the  game  as  much  as  possible  between 
each  pitch.  Now,  you  are  allowed  four  balls 
over  the  plate, — remember,  over  the  plate,  in 
which  to  warm  up.  Slam  'em  into  me,  but  if 
you  put  four  of  them  over  our  goose  is  cooked, 
so  watch  out.' 

"The  Welshman  was  mystified,  but  followed 
my  instructions  to  the  letter.  He  threw  four 
balls  which  nearly  broke  my  back  to  get.  Then 
the  umpire  held  up  his  hand  and  called  'Con 
tinue  the  game.'  I  immediately  went  over  to 
him  and  explained  that  these  four  balls  had 
not  gone  over  the  plate!  He  fell  for  this 
and  agreed  with  me.  After  that  rube  of  a 


184     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

pitcher  had  thrown  about  fifteen  or  sixteen 
balls — several  I  let  pass  me,  chasing  them  to 
the  billet  to  delay  the  game — the  umpire  got 
impatient  and  the  Canadian  rooters  were  yell 
ing  like  mad  to  'Play  ball.'  I  still  insisted  that 
none  of  the  balls  had'  gone  over  the  plate,  and 
the  umpire  was  in  a  quandary.  The  Canadian 
team  captain  was  kicking  like  a  steer  and  of 
fered  to  write  home  and  send  the  umpire  a 
million  books  of  rules.  Then  one  of  our  men 
passed  in  the  rear  of  me  and  whispered,  'Alex 
says  to  go  on  with  the  game/  Wondering  at 
this  information,  I  started  in. 

"The  pitching  of  that  Welshman  was  awful. 
He  hit  the  first  two  men  up  and  walked  the 
third.  I  was  in  despair,  bases  full  and  none 
out.  Some  of  the  Canadian  rooters  were 
jumping  up  and  down  throwing  their  hats  in 
the  air,  and  one  fellow,  looking  squarely  at  me, 
commenced  whistling  'The  Star  Spangled  Ban 
ner.'  This  was  the  last  straw."  (Near  every 
rest  billet  hangs  a  gas-gong.  This  is  a  tri 
angular  piece  of  steel  or  an  empty  shell-case. 


THE  FUSILIER  GIANTS       185 

Beside  this  gong  hangs  an  iron  striker.  Upon 
the  sound  of  the  alarm,  by  striking  on  the  gong 
with  the  striker,  every  man  is  supposed  to  put 
on  his  gas  helmet  and  repair  immediately  to  his 
proper  station.  These  gongs  are  to  warn 
soldiers  that  German  poison  gas  is  coming 
over.) 

"While  I  was  signaling  to  my  rube  pitcher, 
and  beseeching  him  to  put  just  one  over,  the 
clanging  of  the  gas-gong  rang  out.  I  dropped 
my  glove,  got  off  my  chest  protector,  and 
madly  adjusted  my  gas  helmet,  the  rooters  and 
players  doing  the  same.  Then  I  got  wise.  I 
remembered  Alex's  instructions:  'Watch  out 
for  gas.  I  '11  make  'em  hunt  for  their  gas 
helmets.'  The  nerve  and  daring  of  it  took 
my  breath  away.  The  Canadians  had  a  mile 
to  go  to  get  to  their  stations,  and  believe  me, 
it  is  no  fun  double-timing  for  a  mile  while  a 
gas  helmet  is  choking  you  with  its  chemical 
fumes. 

"Well,  those  Canadians  beat  it,  and  so  did 
we,  but  the  game  was  saved  and  all  bets  were 


186     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

off.  I  nearly  smothered  with  laughter  in  my 
gas  helmet.  To  the  rest,  not  being  'in  the 
know,'  it  was  a  genuine  alarm.  Shortly  after 
the  stampede  it  was  discovered  that  the  alarm 
was  false,  and  a  rigid  investigation  took  place. 
But  the  Canadians  had  left  and  our  money 
was  safe.  It  certainly  would  have  gone  hard 
with  the  culprit  had  he  been  caught.  As  it 
was  our  Battalion  got  two  weeks'  extra  fatigue 
on  working  and  digging  parties. 

"Afterwards,  I  was  let  into  the  secret. 
Alex  had  given  Stein  ten  francs  to  sound  the 
gas  alarm,  which,  with  his  fifteen  francs  bet 
on  the  game,  Stein  did  not  have  it  in  his  heart 
to  refuse.  Many  a  time  Alex,  Stein  and  my 
self  had  a  quiet  little  laugh  when  we  pictured 
the  Canadians  stampeding  for  their  billets. 

"Then,  orders  were  received  to  take  over  a 
new  sector  of  the  line,  and  baseball  was  for 
gotten.  Baseballs  gave  way  to  hand  grenades. 

"Not  long  after  that  Alex  was  killed,  and 
Stein  wounded.  Thus  ended  the  career  of  the 
Fusilier  Giants." 


"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?" 

As  TOLD  BY  SAILOR  BILL 


"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?" 

IT  was  Sailor  Bill's  turn.  Clearing  his 
voice,  he  commenced: 

"When  h'l  was  in  the  NVy— " 

"None  of  that,"  interrupted  Curly. 
"You  're  in  the  Army  now,  and  we  are  sick  of 
hearing  you  gas  about  the  Navy.  How  about 
it,  fellows,  make  him  tell  an  army  story." 

The  rest  all  agreed  with  Curly,  and  insisted 
that  Bill  tell  of  an  army  experience,  leaving 
out  as  much  as  possible  his  nautical  terms, 
which  were  Greek  to  them. 

Sailor  Bill,  highly  peeved,  insisted  that  he 
couldn't  recall  at  that  time  that  anything 
worth  telling  about  had  happened  to  him  in  the 
army. 

Ikey  asked,  "You  were  wounded,  weren't 
you?  Well,  tell  us  about  your  trip  to  Blighty. 
We  can  stand  anything." 

189 


190     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

After  two  or  three  minutes  of  pretended  hard 
thinking,  Sailor  Bill  lighted  his  pipe  (which 
was  worse  than  German  gas) ,  and  commenced: 

"The  second  battle  o'  Wipers  was  still 
blowin'.  I  'ad  run  amuck  with  three  bullets 
(rifle,  I  think)  during  my  cruise  over  the 
top.  One  caught  me  on  the  port  side  o'  my 
compass  and  nearly  carried  away  my  port  light, 
while  the  other  two  came  aboard  my  starboard 
shoulder. 

"I  remember  bein'  lowered  down  a  compan- 
ionw'y  into  a  brightly  lit  'old  an'  placed  on  a 
blinkin'  slab.  Must  a'been  a  first  aid  dugout. 
'Pills'  an'  a  Sergeant  bent  over  me,  an'  after 
guessin'  awhile  said  'chloroform.'  Then  they 
tried  to  choke  me  by  placin'  a  gas  'elmit  over 
my  forepeak. 

"I  blinkin'  well  gawsped  for  h'air  a  couple 
o'  times,  an'  then  the  riggin'  started  topplin' 
about  me.  It  was  blowin'  big  guns  an'  my 
wind  was  cut  h'off .  Suddenly  I  lamped  Big 
Ben  makin'  fyces  at  the  Tower  o'  Lundun  an' 
a  bloody  Whitechapel  bus  started  crawlin' 


"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?"     191 

around  Big  Ben's  fyce  like  a  blinkin'  fly. 
About  this  time  the  steam  pipes  busted,  an* 
what  with  a  lot  o'  hissin'  an'  rushin'  noises,  I 
took  a  temporary  trip  to  D'vy  Jones  Locker. 

"I  opened  me  deadlights.  I  were  aboard  a 
stretcher,  swathed  in  blankets,  in  a  low-decked 
wooden  buildin'.  Across  the  w'y  from  me  were 
a  long  row  o'  stretchers,  each  havin'  a  wounded 
Tommy  for  a  cargo.  Some  were  a-lyin'  flat, 
while  others  were  trussed  up  by  folded 
blankets.  Others  were  sittin'  on  their  stretch 
ers,  a-nursin'  o'  wounded  h'arms. 

"Between  bells  a  stretcher  'oldin'  a  Tommy 
would  be  carried  down  the  deck  by  two 
stretcher-bearers,  an'  stowed  aw'y  in  the  op 
posite  row. 

"I  could  'ear  a  bloody  racket  all  about  me, 
an'  when  I  cyme  out  o'  the  fog,  I  got  aboard  o' 
their  talk. 

"My  starboard  mitt  seemed  like  it  were 
lashed  to  the  stretcher.  I  could  n't  budge  it. 
Squirmin'  about,  which  set  the  pain  a  shootin' 
through  me  timbers  an'  started  the  seams,  I 


192     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

turned  me  unbandaged  lamp  in  the  direction  o' 
me  wrist  to  see  what  was  a-'oldin'  of  it. 

"An  R.  A.  M.  C."  (Royal  Army  Medical 
Corps)  "lubber  were  a-'oldin'  'ands  with  me  as 
if  I  were  a  bloomin'  girl  on  a  bench  in  the  park. 
'E  were  about  twenty  years  h'old,  nothin'  but 
a  blinkin'  kid,  an'  looked  dog-tired,  about  time 
for  'is  watch  below.  'Is  chin  would  gradually 
sink  on  'is  chest  as  if  'e  were  a-fallin'  h'asleep. 
Then  'e  would  remember  that  'e  were  on  watch, 
an'  would  turn  to  with  a  jerk. 

"After  awhile  'is  'ead  got  too  'eavy  for  'is 
neck  to  'old,  an'  battenin'  down  'atches  h'over 
'is  lamps  'e  doused  the  glim. 

"I  gave  me  starboard  flipper  a  jerk  an'  'e 
h'opened  'is  h'eyes.  Then  across  'is  face 
flashed  a  smile.  In  my  w'y  o'  thinkin'  it  sort 
er  reminded  me  o'  sunrise  at  sea.  Anyw'y  it 
sent  a  warm  glow  through  me  for'ard  an'  h'aft. 
That  smile  gave  me  a  'ankerin'  after  that  kid. 
Then  came  a  squall.  'E  h'opened  'is  mouth 
an'  I  knew  I  'ad  left  the  cabin  for  the  fo'c'sle 
an'  a  bloody  Cockney  one  at  that. 


"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?"     193 

"  'Strafe  me  pink,  but  you  do  tyke  your  own 
bloomin'  time  to  come  out  o'  chloroform.  'Ere 
h'l  'ave  been  bloody  well  balmy  a-'oldin'  your 
blinkin'  pulse  like  some  tart  down  in  Picca 
dilly/ 

"Out  o'  the  corner  o'  me  mouth  I  awsked 
'im: 

"  'What  port 's  this  ?    Where  am  I  ?' 

"Still  a-smilin',  'e  'ailed  a  stretcher-bearer 
across  the  w'y: 

"  'H'l  s'y,  'Awkins,  this  blighter  wants  a 
bloomin'  map  o'  Frawnce;  'e  wants  to  know 
where  'e  h'is.' 

'  'Awkins  yelled  back: 

"  'Wants  to  know  where  'e  h'is?  What 
bloody  cheek  1  Tell  'im  'e  's  bloomin'  well  in 
Sam  Isaac's  fish  'ouse  down  Tottenham  Court 
Road,  a-waitin'  fer  'is  order  o'  fish  an  chips.' 

"This  brought  out  a  blinkin'  roar  from  the 
Tommies  on  me  starboard  an'  port  beams. 

"I  got  sort  er  riled,  an',  Yank,  'avin'  a-visited 
New  York,  I  tried  to  come  aboard  with  some 
o'  that  Yankee  swank,  somethin'  like  this; 


194     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"  'Aw  cut  it  up.  Quit  yer  kiddin'.  Yer 
brains  are  dusty.  What 's  the  matter,  am  I 
wounded?' 

"The  R.  A.  M.  C.  man,  with  that  smile  still 
a-shinin'  from  'is  port-'oles,  which  made  me  feel 
kind  o'  shamed  like  at  me  resentment,  awn- 
swered : 

*  'Naw,  myte,  you  h'ain't  wounded.     You 
just  'appened  to  fall  down  in  the  bloomin'  road 
an'  one  o'  those  blinkin'  tanks  crawled  over 
you.' 

This  scared  me  a  little,  an'  I  sort  er  pleaded : 
' 'Cawn't  you  please  tell  me;  what  is  the 
matter  with  me?' 

*  'E  leaned  over  an'  read  from  a  little  tag 
pinned  to  me  tunic : 

'  *G.  S.  W.  left  face;  two,  right  shoulder. 
Cot.' 

"Then  'e  carried  on: 

*  'H'it  means  that  you  'ave  a  gunshot  wound, 
a  bullet  through  the  left  side  o'  your  clock,  an' 
two  bullets  through   the  right  shoulder,   an' 
that  you  're  a  cot  case,  which  means  that  you 


"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?"     195 

won't  'ave  to  bloody  well  walk.  Two  of  us 
poor  blokes  will  'ave  to  carry  you  on  a  stretcher. 
You  sure  are  a  lucky  bloke;  pretty  cushy,  I 
calls  it.' 

"I  awsked  'im  if  the  wounds  were  good  for 
Blighty. 

"He  answered: 

"  'Yes,  they  're  good  for  Blighty,  an'  h'l  'm 
a  thinkin'  that  they  're  good  for  a  discharge. 
That  right  h'arm  o'  your'n  will  be  out  o'  com 
mission  for  the  rest  o'  your  life.  Your  wife, 
if  you  Ve  got  one,  will  bloomin'  well  'ave  to 
cut  your  meat  for  you,  that  is,  if  you  're  lucky 
enough  to  buy  any  blinkin'  meat  on  the  pen 
sion  the  Top  'Ats  at  'ome  will  'and  you.' 

"A  feelin'  o'  pride  ran  through  me.  In 
a  'ospital  o'  wounded  soldiers,  a  severely 
wounded  case  is  more  or  less  looked  up  to,  while 
a  man  with  a  slight  wound  is  treated  as  an 
ordinary  mortal.  I  could  read  respect,  per'aps 
mixed  up  with  a  little  h'envy,  in  the  h'eyes  o' 
the  surroundin'  Tommies. 

"The  door  at  the  h'end  o'  the  ward  h'opened. 


196     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

A  'owl  came  from  the  cot  on  me  starboard,  an* 
a  gruff  Irish  voice  shouted : 

"  'Close  that  damned  door.  You  bloomin* 
'ospital  men  'ave  no  sinse  at  all.  'Ere  I  am, 
knocked  about  by  a  blinkin'  shell  an'  the  likes 
o'  youse  puts  me  in  a  bloody  draught.  It 's  a 
good  thing  we  'ave  a  n'vy ;  with  the  likes  o'  you 
blokes  in  the  h'army,  we  certainly  need  one.' 

"A  laugh  went  up  from  the  rest.  Then  a 
Tommy  on  my  port  answered  this  outburst 
with: 

"  'Bloody  nerve,  I  call  it.  'Ere  'e  is,  a-cov- 
ered  with  blankets  an'  grousin'  about  a  little 
drawft,  an'  not  many  hours  back  'e  was  a-lyin' 
in  a  bloomin'  shell  'ole,  with  the  wind  a-blowin' 
the  whiskers  off'n  'im,  an'  'e  a-prayin'  for  the 
stretcher-bearers.  I  '11  wager  a  quid  'e  belongs 
to  the  Royal  h'Irish  Rifles.' 

"The  man  on  me  starboard  retorted: 

"  'No,  I  'm  not  in  the  Royal  Irish  Rifles,  but 
I  belong  to  a  good  outfit — the  Royal  Dublin 
Fusileers,  an'  I  can  lick  the  man  that  says  they 
ain't.  So  don't  get  so  damn  sharp.' 


"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?"     197 

"Just  then,  from  amidships  in  the  ward,  came 
the  voice  of  a  stretcher-bearer: 

"  'Jones,  get  the  M.  O."  (Medical  Officer). 
"Hurry  up — quick!  This  poor  bloke's  a- 
goin'  West. 

"The  man  'oldin'  my  'and  suddenly  let  go  'is 
grip,  an'  a-risin'  to  'is  feet,  'urriedly  left  the 
ward.  There  was  dead  silence  'tween  decks. 
I  tried  to  turn  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
first  voice  'ad  come,  but  the  sharp  pain  in  me 
shoulder  warned  me  that  I  was  on  a  lee  shore. 

"In  a  few  seconds  the  door  h'opened  an'  I 
could  'ear  low  voices  down  in  the  corner.  I 
could  see  the  Tommies  around  me  h'intently 
gazing  in  this  one  direction.  Awfter  a  few 
minutes  the  door  again  h'opened  an'  closed,  an' 
Jones  came  back.  I  looked  up  at  'im  an'  'e 
solemnly  nodded. 

"One  more  bloke  'ad  gone  West  for  'is  King 
an'  Country. 

"Me  unbandaged  lamp  suddenly  ran  into  a 
fog  an'  sprung  a  leak,  the  bilge  water  runnin' 
down  me  side. 


198     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"The  door  at  the  other  h'end  o'  the  ward 
h'opened  an'  two  stretcher-bearers  h'entered  an' 
went  in  the  direction  o'  the  dead  bloke.  Pretty 
soon  they  came  back  with  a  stretcher  in  tow  on 
which  were  a  still  form  covered  with  a  blanket, 
an'  left  the  ward.  The  Irishman  on  me  star 
board  was  a-repeatin'  to  'imself : 

"  'Poor  bloke,  poor  bloke ;  'e  sure  'as  done  'is 
bit,  an'  it  won't  be  long  before  'e  '11  be  a-pushin' 
up  the  daisies  somewhere  in  Frawnce.  An'  be 
fore  this  war  is  h'over  there  '11  be  lots  more  in 
the  same  fix,  I  'm  a-thinkinY 

"One  o'  the  Tommies,  swankin'  to  be  brave, 
h'addressed  Jones: 

"  'What 's  'is  nyme,  Mike?  What  battalion 
is  'e  from?' 

"Jones  awnswered: 

"  'James  Collins,  a  Lawnce  Corporal  out  o' 
the  Royal  Warwicks ;  five  machine  gun  bullets 
through  the  right  lung — 'emorrhage.' 

"The  blinkin'  door  ag'in  h'opened,  an'  two 
stretcher-bearers  h'entered  carryin'  a  Tommy, 
'is  'ead  lyin'  flat,  an'  the  smell  of  h'ether  almost 


"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?"     199 

turned  me  stomick.  I  knew  it  were  a  case 
from  the  Pictures"  (operating-room).  "The 
stretcher-bearers  placed  'im  to  the  starboard  o' 
the  Irishman. 

"Jones  now  left  me,  an'  gettin'  a  little  white 
basin,  went  h'over  to  the  new  h'arrival.  The 
Tommies  turned  h'inquirin'  looks  in  'is  direc 
tion.  'E  knew  what  they  meant  all  right,  an' 
read  from  the  tag: 

"  'Shell  wound  in  left  foot, — h'amputation.' 

"I  knew  that  I  'ad  lost  me  prestige. 

"In  a  short  while  the  form  on  the  stretcher 
began  to  mumble.  This  mumblin'  soon  turned 
into  singin,  an'  that  Tommy  certainly  could 
sing!  'E  must  'ave  been  a  comedian  in  civilian 
life,  because  we  were  soon  a-roarin'  with  laugh 
ter.  'Any  Tate,  the  famous  h'English  co 
median,  in  'is  fair  weather  d'ys,  never  'ad  a  no 
more  h'appreciative  h'audience.  H'awfter  a 
bit  the  singin'  stopped  an'  the  Tommies  began 
talkin'  at  each  other.  The  main  topic  o'  their 
conversation  were  Blighty — what  'opes !  Each 
one  was  a-'opin'  that  'is  wound  was  serious 


200     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

enough  for  'im  to  be  sent  to  h'England.  The 
stretcher-bearers  were  fairly  pestered  with 
questions  as  to  what  chawnce  they  'ad  o'  reach- 
in'  a  Lunnun  public-'ouse.  I  believe  they  all 
h'envied  the  bloke  under  h'ether,  with  a  left  foot 
a-missin' ;  'e  was  sure  to  click  Blighty. 

"A  Sergeant-M'jor  o'  the  R.  A.  M.  C.  h'en- 
tered  the  ward  like  a  blinkin'  Admiral  comin' 
aboard.  All  o'  the  medical  men  stood  at  atten 
tion,  except  one  or  two  a-takin'  care  o'  serious 
cases.  The  Sergeant-M'jor  ordered: 

"  'Get  this  ward  in  shape.  The  M.  O.  is 
comin'  through  in  five  minutes  to  h'inspect 
cases  an'  clear  out.' 

"The  R.  A.  M.  C.  men  went  from  cot  to  cot, 
carefully  smoothin'  h'out  blankets  an'  tuckin' 
in  loose  ends,  an'  pickin'  h'up  fag  h'ends." 
(Cigarette  butts.) 

"The  Sergeant-M'jor  pulled  out. 

"In  about  ten  minutes,  the  door  again 
h'opened,  an'  with  a  smart  'shun'  from  the  Ser 
geant-M'jor,  who  came  in  first,  all  what  was 
able  came  to  attention,  an'  the  doctor  h'entered, 


"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?"     201 

a  clerk,  and  a  R.  A.  M.  C.  Sergeant  followin' 
in  'is  wake.  'E  stopped  at  each  cot,  carefully 
read  the  tag  on  the  wounded  man  h'occupyin' 
it,  passed  a  few  remarks  which  the  clerk  jotted 
down  on  a  pad  of  paper,  an'  as  'e  left  each 
wounded  soldier,  'e  'ad  a  cheerin'  remark  for 
'im. 

"When  'e  came  to  me  'e  awsked: 

"  'Well,  'ow  are  you  feelin'  me  lad,  at  the 
same  time  stoopin'  over  an'  readin'  from  me 
tag: 

"  'Ummm — three  rifle  bullets ;  well,  me  lucky 
fellow,  h'it  means  h'England  for  you.' 

"H'l  could  'ave  blinkin'  well  a-kissed  'im  for 
them  words. 

"Then  'e  passed  to  the  Irishman  on  me  star 
board.  Bendin'  over  'im  'e  awsked: 

"  '  'Ow  are  you,  me  lad?' 

"The  Irishman,  thick-like,  awnswered : 

"  *I  'm  damned  sick,  an'  I  want  to  get  out  o' 
'ere;  I  want  to  get  out  o'  'ere,  out  o'  this 
draught.  Ivery  tin  minutes  they  're  openin' 
and  a-shuttin'  that  door.' 


202     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"The  doctor,  winkin'  'is  lamp,  turned  to  the 
R.  A.  M.  C.  Sergeant,  an'  said: 

'  'Shrapnel,  left  foot,  knee  an'  right  breast. 
I  see  no  reason  why  this  man  won't  be  ready  for 
duty  in  a  couple  o'  d'ys.' 

"The  Irishman,  bloody  near  jumpin'  over 
the  side  o'  'is  cot,  yelled : 

'  'Dooty,  how  in  the  'ell  can  I  do  dooty  when 
I  cawn't  blinkin'  well  walk  ?' 

"The  doctor  answered: 

"  'That  '11  be  aU  right,  me  lad.  We  '11  fix 
you  h'up  with  a  cushy  job  at  Brigade  'Ead- 
quarters,  a-poundin'  a  typewriter.' 

"The  Irishman,  with  a  moan  of  disgust,  ad- 
dressin'  nobody  in  particular,  sighed : 

"  'Out  since  Mons,  an'  h'l  h'end  up  with 
workin'  a  bloody  typewriter  at  'Eadquar- 
ters.  Stick  me  in  skirts  an'  I  '11  go  as  a 
manicurist.' 

"The  doctor  went  to  the  next  case  an'  soon 
left  the  ward. 

"As  soon  as  the  door  closed,  a  string  of  oaths 
came  from  the  Irishman: 


"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?"     208 

'  'Poundin'  a typewriter  at  'Ead- 

quarters;  just  like  the  bloody  British 
h'Army;  what  in  'ell  do  I  know  about  one  o' 
those  writin'-machines  ?  Just  me  luck.  Why 
couldn't  that  shell  'ave  'it  me  in  the  'ands? 
But,  I  s'pose,  if  I  'd  a'  lost  me  bloody  'ands 
they  'd  myke  a  tight-rope  walker  out  o'  me.' 

"Awfter  a  bit  'e  sorter  cooled  down,  an'  to 
keep  conversation  a-goin',  I  awsked  'im,  sort  o' 
innocent-like : 

"  'Where  did  you  get  wounded?' 

"  'E  let  out  another  bloody  'owl,  this  time  at 
me,  an'  said: 

"  'Of  all  the  damn  fools,  you  're  a-leadin'  o' 
them.  I  got  wounded  in  the  blinkin'  Crimean 
War,  'elpin'  Napoleon  tyke  Josephine  across 
the  Alps,  'ad  me  blinkin  legs  blown  off  at  the 
wrists  an'  me  'ead  cut  h'off  at  me  waist.  Is 
there  anything  else  I  kin  be  enlightenin'  you 
of?  If  not,  keep  yer  tongue  in  that  bloody 
cave  o'  yourn.' 

"A-laughin'  made  me  wounds  'urt,  so  I  bat 
tened  down  'atches  an'  lay  to. 


204     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"Awfter  the  laughin'  at  the  Irishman  'ad 
died  out,  the  Tommies  started  eagerly  question 
ing  each  h'other : 

"  'What  did  'e  sye  to  you?  Are  you  good 
for  Blighty?  'E  marked  h'England  on  me 
tag!  What  does  Base  'Ospital  mean?  Does 
it  mean  that  I  'm  to  stick  h'out  in  this  bloody 
mess  while  you  blokes  are  a-goin'  to  Blighty?' 
etc.,  etc. 

"Pretty  soon  a  stretcher-bearer  came  in 
a-carryin'  a  little,  oblong  green  box,  which  we 
all  knew  'eld  Woodbines.  'E  were  greeted 
with  a  chorus  of: 

"  'Gimme  a  fag,  Mike ;  I  'm  all  out.  Come 
on,  chum,  don't  forget  me.  That 's  a  good  fel 
low.  Let 's  'ave  one.' 

"It  were  n't  long  before  every  Tommy  who 
were  fit  'ad  a  fag  between  'is  lips.  A  sigh  o' 
content  went  up  as  they  inhaled  deep  puffs  o' 
smoke.  Mine  was  jake. 

"Awfter  me  smoke  I  were  a-feelin'  pretty 
ship-shape,  an'  tried  another  shot  at  the  Irish 
man.  I  awsked  'im: 


"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?"     205 

"  'Come  on,  myte,  tell  me  'ow  you  were  'it. 
'Ow  did  it  'appen?' 

"No  answer. 

"I  tried  again.  Still  no  blinkin'  awnswer. 
Raisin'  myself  on  my  good  elbow,  an'  it  'urt 
like  'ell,  I  took  a  look  at  'im.  'Is  fyce  were  like 
putty,  an'  'is  mouth  were  h'open.  I  yelled  to 
one  of  the  R.  A.  M.  C.  men,  who  came  a-run- 
nin',  an'  h'l  pointed  at  that  chalky  fyce.  'E 
bent  over  'im,  felt  'is  pulse,  lifted  'is  blinkin' 
eyelids,  an'  then  took  it  on  the  run  for  the  doc 
tor. 

"The  doctor  came  in  an'  did  pretty  near  as 
what  the  R.  A.  M.  C.  man  'ad  done,  straight 
ened  up,  an'  shook  'is  'ead.  That  bloke  'ad 
gone  West  under  our  blinkin'  noses.  H'inter- 
nal  'emorrhage,  they  called  it.  Must  a-tried  to 
turn  over  an*  started  bleedin'  on  the  inside. 

"In  about  five  minutes,  two  orderlies  came  in 
an  'oisted  'im  onto  a  stretcher,  an'  'e  took  'is 
lawst  ride  at  the  expense  o'  the  Government. 

"  'Is  death  knocked  the  wind  out  o'  our  sails, 
an'  there  were  a  dead  calm  in  that  ward, 


206     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"Near  twenty  minutes  awfter  the  poor  bloke 
'ad  been  carried  aw'y  one  o'  the  R.  A.  M.  C. 
men  noticed  a'  open  letter  where  the  Irishman 
'ad  been.  It  were  all  muddy  an'  a-covered 
with  blood  stains.  'E  picked  it  up,  an'  slowly 
turned  it  over  an'  over,  an'  then  started  to  read, 
in  a  low  voice,  with  the  water  a-tricklin'  down 
'is  fyce.  I  could  just  h'about  'ear  'im.  It 
were  from  the  Irishman's  nipper,  an'  as  well  as 
I  can  remember,  went  somethin'  like  this : 

"Dear  Daddy: 

*'  'Urry  up  an'  win  the  war  an'  come  'ome,  'cause 
me  an'  Mamma  an'  Mary  is  lonesome.  Mamma  cries 
lots  when  she  's  alone  by  herself,  but  sometimes  I  sees 
'er,  an'  then  she  smiles  an'  says  she  wants  me  when  I 
grow  up  to  be  a  man,  to  be  brave  like  you  is,  Daddy. 

"Day  before  yesterday  I  licked  Mike  Casey  an' 
'e  's  goin'  on  twelve,  too,  'cause  'e  said  'is  father  was 
braver  than  you,  just  'cause  'is  father  won  an  old 
D.  C.  M.  medal.  After  lickin'  'im,  I  told  'im  you 
could  win  a  million  D.  C.  M.  medals,  but  that  you 
didn't  want  none.  Did  you,  Daddy?  But  get  one, 
anyway,  just  to  show  'im. 

"Last  Sunday  Mamma  read  out  o'  the  newspapers 
that  there  was  a  big  battle  against  the  dirty  Ger 
mans,  an'  cried  a  lot.  She  said  you  were  in  it, 


"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?"     207 

Daddy,  an'  I  said  then  we  won,  because  Daddy  will 
win  for  us.  She  'as  been  crying  a  awful  lot.  'Urry 
an'  come  'ome,  Daddy,  an'  make  Mamma  smile  again, 
an'  bring  a  German  prisoner  to  do  the  work  so  as 
Mamma  can  rest  from  takin'  in  washin'.  She  says 
food  is  awful  'igh,  an'  she  'as  lost  'er  h'appetite,  but 
me  an'  Mary  eats  just  as  much,  so  don't  worry, 
Daddy. 

"Mamma  is  out  gettin'  the  wash,  so  I  am  writin' 
to  surprise  you,  an'  she  don't  know.  We  will  tell  'er 
some  day,  won't  we,  Daddy,  an'  make  'er  smile  again. 

"Goodbye,  Daddy,  an'  I  always  ask  the  Priest  to 
say  prayers  fer  you,  Daddy,  an'  I  say  them  myself, 
an'  so  does  Mamma  an'  Mary  an'  Jim,  our  new  dog. 

"Much  love  an'  kisses  from  me,  an'  Mamma,  an' 
Mary  an'  Jim. 

"Your  lovin'  son, 

"JOHNNY. 

"P.  S. — Don't  fergit  to  come  'ome." 

"That  letter  from  'is  little  nipper  made  me 
'eart  ache,  an'  'e  a-lyin'  dead  somewhere  in 
Frawnce.  The  R.  A.  M.  C.  man  left  the  ward 
with  the  letter,  a-leakin'  from  both  eyes. 

"The  Sergeant-Ma j  or  again  entered.  The 
R.  A.  M.  C.  men  came  to  attention.  'E  or 
dered  : 

"  'Get   the    convoy   for   h'England   ready. 


208     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

Look  alive,  the  h'ambulances  are  h'expected 
any  minute.' 

"The  stretcher-bearers  started  knockin' 
about,  an'  the  ship  was  in  an  uproar.  Then, 
outside,  h'l  could  'ear  the  chuggin'  of  the  en 
gines  in  the  waitin'  ambulances. 

"H'as  each  lucky  bloke  were  carried  out,  the 
more  unfortunate  ones,  who  were  to  be  left 
be'ind  in  the  Base  'Ospital,  bravely  wished  'im 
a  'Good  luck,  myte ;  give  my  regards  to  Trafal 
gar  Square.  Be  careful,  an'  don't  lose  your 
blinkin'  watch  in  Petticoat  Lane.' 

"H'as  I  were  carried  through  the  door  the 
cold  h'air  sent  a  shiver  through  me,  an'  my 
wounds  began  to  pain.  The  h'effect  o'  the 
chloroform  were  a-wearin'  off,  or  it  might  'a' 
been  that  letter.  Lanterns  were  a-flashin'  to 
an*  fro,  an'  long  lines  o'  stretchers  could  be  seen 
movin'  toward  the  waitin'  h'ambulances. 

"I  were  put  aboard  an  ambulance  with  three 
others.  A  raspin'  noise  as  she  got  under  w'y, 
an'  I  were  'omeward  bound  for  Blighty." 


"BLIGHTY!— WHAT  HOPES?"     209 

When  Sailor  Bill  had  finished,  no  one  broke 
the  silence. 

They  were  all  thinking  of  Johnny. 


ROUNDING  UP  SPIES 

As  TOLD  BY  CURLY 


* 


ROUNDING  UP  SPIES 

NO.  2  Gun's  Crew  had  been  relieved  from 
the  front  line  and  were  in  rest  billets  in 

the  little  French  village  of  S ,  about  ten 

kilos  from  the  front  line  trench. 

The  crew  were  sitting  on  the  ground  in  a 
circle  around  their  machine-gun,  while  a  Ser 
geant,  newly  returned  from  a  special  course  at 
St.  Omer,  was  expounding  the  theory  of  scien 
tific  machine-gunnery.  He  himself  had  never 
actually  been  under  fire  with  a  machine-gun, 
but,  from  the  theoretical  point,  he  sure  could 
throw  out  the  book  stuff.  His  flow  of  elo 
quence  passed  over  his  listeners'  heads  like  a 
Zeppelin,  and  there  was  an  uneasy  squirming 
among  them. 

Happy,  who  was  sitting  next  to  Yank, 
leaned  over,  and  with  his  eye  on  the  Sergeant, 
whispered  in  his  ear: 

213 


214     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"Blime  me,  Yank,  is  n't  it  arful  the  w'y  'e 
chucks  'is  weight  about?' 

Yank  agreed  with  Happy. 

Across  from  Yank  sat  Ikey,  with  their  mas 
cot,  a  scrawny  little  cur,  in  his  lap.  Every  now 
and  then  the  cur  would  take  his  hind  leg  and 
furiously  scratch  at  a  spot  behind  his  ear. 
Ikey,  noticing  this  action,  would  reach  under 
his  armpit,  and  also  scratch. 

Sailor  Bill  was  intently  watching  the  mascot 
and  Ikey.  He,  too,  started  scratching. 

In  a  minute  or  so,  Hungry  started  on  a 
cootie  hunt;  and  Yank  had  an  irresistible  de 
sire  to  lean  his  back  against  the  barrel-casing  of 
the  gun  and  scratch,  too. 

It  was  one  of  the  chief  indoor  sports  of  the 
Western  Front,  especially  during  a  monoton 
ous  lecture  by  some  officer  or  non-com,  for  one 
of  the  fed-up  listeners  to  start  scratching  him 
self.  This  generally  caused  the  whole  gang  to 
do  the  same,  the  instructor  included.  It  was 
just  like  a  minister  in  the  midst  of  a  very  dry 
sermon,  suddenly  stopping,  stretching  himself, 


ROUNDING  UP  SPIES         215 

and  yawning,  this  action  causing  the  rest  of  the 
congregation  to  do  likewise. 

As  the  whole  circle  scratched,  the  Sergeant- 
Instructor  commenced  to  shift  his  weight  from 
one  foot  to  the  other  in  an  uneasy  manner. 
They  all  gazed  at  him  intently,  and  each  began 
to  scratch  furiously.  Sure  enough,  the  Ser 
geant  gave  in  and  started  unbuttoning  the 
front  of  his  tunic  to  get  at  some  real  or  imag 
inary  cootie.  A  nudge  went  the  rounds  of  the 
circle.  They  had  accomplished  their  purpose. 
The  Sergeant's  mind  took  an  awful  drop  from 
the  science  of  machine-gunnery  to  that  of  catch 
ing  that  particular  cootie. 

The  gun's  crew  glanced  at  their  wrist 
watches.  Fifteen  minutes  more  and  the  lesson 
would  be  over.  The  Sergeant  was  becoming 
confused,  and  was  trying  to  flounder  through 
the  rest  of  his  talk.  They  had  no  mercy  on 
him,  but  kept  up  the  scratching.  At  last,  in 
desperation,  he  said: 

"You  men  have  actually  been  under  fire  with 
machine-guns  several  times.  Can't  one  of  you 


216     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

relate  some  incident  of  how,  through  some  ruse, 
you  put  it  over  on  the  Bodies?" 

Ikey,  grasping  this  golden  opportunity  to 
break  up  the  lecture,  and  slyly  winking  at  us, 
started  in  and  told  how  a  certain  gun's  crew 
located  and  put  out  of  action  a  German 
machine-gunner  by  playing  a  tune  on  their 
gun ;  the  German  tried'to  imitate  it,  thereby  in 
dicating  to  them  by  sound  the  exact  location  of 
the  German  gun,  which  was  later  put  out  of 
action  by  concentrated  fire  from  their  sec 
tion. 

Of  course,  the  whole  circle  listened  very  in 
tently,  but  it  was  an  old  story  to  them;  they 
were  the  gun's  crew  which  had  accomplished 
the  feat  that  Ikey  was  describing.  Still,  any 
thing  was  better  than  listening  to  that  sing-song 
droning  of  book  knowledge  which  the  Sergeant 
had  been  pumping  into  them  for  the  last  hour 
and  a  half. 

The  Sergeant  glanced  at  his  watch,  and  dis 
missed  them.  They  dismounted  their  gun,  put 
it  in  its  box  and  stored  it  away  in  their  billet. 


ROUNDING  UP  SPIES         217 

Then,  reassembled  under  an  apple-tree  in  the 
orchard,  and  while  the  rest  of  them  indulged  in 
a  shirt  hunt,  Hungry  went  after  their  ration  of 
tea.  Hungry  was  sure  on  the  j  ob  when  it  came 
to  eating.  Pretty  soon  he  returned  with  a 
dixie  a  quarter  full  of  tea,  two  tins  of  jam,  a 
loaf  of  bread,  a  large  piece  of  cheese,  and  a  tin 
of  apricots  which  he  had  bought  at  a  nearby 
French  estaminet. 

He  dished  out  the  rations,  not  forgetting  a 
generous  share  for  himself.  After  they  had 
finished,  out  came  the  inevitable  fags,  a  few 
puffs  from  each  man,  and  the  ball  of  conversa 
tion  started  rolling: 

Curly  cleared  his  throat  and  started  in: 

"Remember  that  village  we  passed  through 
on  our  march  up  the  line- about  two  weeks  ago; 
you  know,  the  one  where  that  big  church  with 
all  the  shell-holes  in  it  was  right  on  the  corner 
where  we  turned  to  the  left  to  take  the  road  to 
St.  A ?" 

They  all  remembered  it,  and  turned  inquir 
ing  glances  in  Curry's  direction. 


218     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

"Well,  this  morning,  when  I  went  down  to 
the  'Quarter'  (Quartermaster- Sergeant),  to 
draw  coal,  I  met  a  fellow  at  Divisional  Head 
quarters  who  told  me  a  mighty  interesting  story 
of  how  he  and  another  fellow  rounded  up  a 
couple  of  spies. 

"This  bloke,  I  suppose,  through  modesty, 
and  to  cover  up  his  own  good  work,  tried  to 
make  me  believe  that  it  was  only  through  a 
lucky  chance  that  they  stumbled  over  the  clue 
which  led  to  the  spies'  arrest,  but  it 's  my  opin 
ion,  and  I  know  you  '11  all  agree  with  me,  that 
it  was  not  so  much  luck  as  it  was  clever  think 
ing.  I  'm  not  much  at  telling  a  story,  but  I  'm 
going  to  try  and  give  it,  as  far  as  I  can  remem 
ber,  just  the  way  he  handed  it  out  to  me. 

"It  seems  that  this  fellow,  who  told  me  the 
story,  and  another  chap,  had  been  detailed  to 
the  Divisional  Intelligence  Department,  and 
were  hanging  around  Division  Headquarters 
waiting  for  something  to  happen. 

"Now  here  's  the  story  as  he  reeled  it  off  to 
me: 


ROUNDING  UP  SPIES         219 

'  'About  three  kilos  behind  Divisional  Head 
quarters  was  the  old  French  village  of  B . 

One  of  our  important  roads  ran  through  it. 
This  road  was  greatly  used  by  our  troops  for 
bringing  up  supplies  and  ammunition  for  the 
front  line.  It  was  also  used  by  large  numbers 
of  troops  when  relieving  batteries  in  the  fire 
sector. 

'  'Of  course,  on  account  of  this  road  being  in 
range  of  the  German  guns,  it  could  only  be 
used  at  night ;  otherwise,  the  enemy  airmen  and 
observation  balloons  would  get  wise  and  it 
would  only  be  a  short  time  before  the  road 
would  be  shelled,  causing  many  casualties. 

'  'For  the  last  ten  days,  reports  had  been  re 
ceived  at  Divisional  Headquarters  that  every 
time  troops  passed  a  certain  point  on  this-  road, 
marked  by  an  old  church,  they  were  sure  to 
click  heavy  shell-fire  from  the  Boches.  On 
nights  when  no  troops  passed  through,  on  the 
other  hand,  there  would  be  very  little  shelling, 
if  any. 

"  'Upon  the  first  two  or  three  of  these  re- 


220     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

ports,  we  put  it  down  as  a  strange  coincidence, 
but  when  the  fifth  report  of  this  nature  reached 
us,  it  was  evident  to  us  that  a  spy  was  at  work, 
and  that  in  some  mysterious  way  the  informa 
tion  of  the  movement  of  our  troops  was  com 
municated  by  him  to  the  enemy. 

"  'Myself  and  another  fellow,  who  had  been 
working  with  me  for  the  last  two  weeks,  were 
assigned  to  the  task  of  discovering  and  appre 
hending  this  spy.  To  us  it  seemed  an  impos 
sible  job,  as  there  were  no  clues  to  work  upon. 
As  is  usual,  our  General,  Old  Pepper,  called  us 
in,  and  said : 

'  "There  is  a  spy  "working  in  the  village  of 
B—  — ;  go  get  him." 

"  'Foolishly  I  butted  in  and  asked  for  further 
information.  I  got  it,  all  right.  With  a  low 
ering  look  which  made  me  tremble,  he  roared: 

"  '  "Go  and  dig  up  your  own  clues.  What 
are  you  with  the  Intelligence  Department  for? 
Intelligence  Depfartment !  It  ought  to  be 
called  Brainless  Department,  if  you  two  are  a 
sample  of  the  rest." 


ROUNDING  UP  SPIES         221 

'  'Somehow  or  other  we  did  n't  stop  to  argue 
with  Old  Pepper.'  " 

At  this  point,  Sailor  Bill  butted  in: 

"Blime  me,  he  's  just  like  an  Admiral  we  had 
in  our  Navy,  this  old  boy." 

A  chorus  of,  "Oh,  shut  up,  you  're  in  the 
Army  now,"  cut  off  Bill's  story.  They  knew 
Sailor  Bill.  With  an  indignant  glance  around 
the  circle,  he  relapsed  into  silence. 

Curly  exclaimed,  "To  hell  with  your  Ad 
miral;  do  you  want  to  hear  this  story?  If  you 
do,  shut  up  and  let  me  tell  it." 

"Go  on,  Curly,  never  mind ;  he  's  harmless," 
ejaculated  Happy. 

Curly  carried  on  with : 

"  'Getting  our  packs  and  drawing  three  days* 
rations,  we  started  hiking  it  for  the  village  of 

B .  We  arrived  there  about  four  in  the 

afternoon,  and  after  putting  our  packs  and 
rations  in  an  old  barn,  which  we  intended  to 
use  as  our  billet  during  our  stay  in  the  village, 
we  left  on  a  general  tour  of  inspection. 

"  'There  were  about  three  hundred  civilians 


222     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

in  the  place  who  preferred  to  brave  the  dangers 
of  shell-fire,  as  there  was  a  rich  harvest  to  be 
reaped  from  the  sale  of  farm  produce,  beer  and 
wine  to  the  troops  billeted  all  around.  Two 
estaminets  were  still  open,  and  did  a  thriving 
business. 

"  'Occasionally  a  shell  would  burst  in  the  vil 
lage,  but  the  civilians  did  not  seem  to  mind  it; 
just  carried  on  with  their  farming  and  business 
as  usual. 

"  'We  decided  to  make  a  thorough  search  of 
all  houses,  barns  and  buildings  for  concealed 
wires.  We  did  so,  but  with  barren  results. 
Nothing  suspicious  was  found.  This  search 
wasted  five  days,  and  we  were  in  desperation. 
Watch  and  wish  as  we  would,  not  a  single  clue 
came  to  light. 

"  'During  this  time  two  large  bodies  of 
troops  had  passed  through  and  each  time  they 
were  heavily  shelled  with  dire  results. 

"  'On  the  sixth  night  of  our  assignment,  ut 
terly  disgusted,  I,  being  in  charge,  had  decided 
to  chuck  up  the  whole  business  and  report  back 


ROUNDING  UP  SPIES         223 

to  Old  Pepper  that  we  had  made  a  mess  out  of 
the  investigation.  My  partner  pleaded  with 
me  to  stick  it  out  a  couple  of  days  more,  and 
after  he  gave  me  a  vivid  description  of  what 
Old  Pepper  would  hand  out  to  us,  I  decided  to 
stick  it  out  for  six  months,  if  necessary. 

;  'To  celebrate  this  decision,  my  side-kicker 
offered  to  blow  to  several  rounds  of  drinks. 
Now,  this  fellow  had  never,  during  my  ac 
quaintance  with  him,  offered  to  spend  a 
ha'penny,  so  I  quickly  accepted  his  offer  and 
we  went  to  the  nearest  estaminet. 

'  'Sitting  around  a  long  table,  drinking 
French  beer  and  smoking  cigarettes,  was  a 
crowd  of  soldiers,  laughing,  joking,  arguing 
and  telling  stories. 

'We  sat  down  at  the  end  of  the  table,  and 
in  low  tones,  tried  to  work  impossible  theories 
as  to  how  the  spy,  if  there  was  one,  and  by  this 
time  we  were  getting  doubtful,  could  get  the 
information  back  to  the  German  batteries. 

'  'Right  across  from  us  were  two  soldiers 
arguing  about  farming.  Suddenly  my  side- 


224     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

kicker  pinched  me  on  the  knee  and  whispered : 

"Listen  to  what  those  two  fellows  across 

the  table  from  us  are  saying.     It  sounds  good." 

'  'I  listened  for  about  a  minute  and  then  paid 
no  further  attention.  At  that  time  farming  in 
no  way  interested  me.  I  wanted  to  catch  that 
spy,  and  started  devising  impossible  theories 
as  to  the  ways  and  means  of  doing  so.  At  last 
I  gave  up  in  disgust.  My  partner  was  still 
attentively  listening  to  the  two  across  the  table 
from  us.  Another  poke  in  the  knee  from  my 
partner,  and  I  was  all  attention. 

'  'One  of  the  fellows  across  the  way  was  talk 
ing. 

'""Well,  I  don't  see  why  this  French 
blighter  should  change  horses  in  his  plow  every 
afternoon.  I  Ve  watched  him  for  several  days. 
Now,  in  the  morning  he  uses  two  greys,  and 
then  about  two  in  the  afternoon  he  either  hooks 
up  two  blacks  or  a  grey  and  a  black.  French 
ways  may  be  different,  but  this  frog-eater  is 
very  partial  to  the  colors  of  his  team.  Figure 
it  out  for  yourself.  He  starts  work  with  the 


ROUNDING  UP  SPIES         225 

two  greys  about  six  o'clock  in  the  morning; 
works  the  two  beggars  up  till  noon.  That  's 
six  hours  straight.  Then  he  sticks  them  in  the 
stable,  lays  off  for  two  hours,  and  in  the  after 
noon  about  two  o'clock  the  new  relay  of  animals 
come  on  and  work  up  till  four.  Now,  anybody 
with  any  brains  in  their  nappers  knows  that 
that  is  no  way  to  keep  horses  in  condition, 
working  one  team  over  six  hours  and  the  other 
team  only  two  hours.  I  know  because  we  have 
been  farmers  in  our  family  back  in  Blighty  for 
generations." 

"  'I  was  all  excitement,  and  a  great  hope 
surged  through  me  that  at  last  we  had  fallen  on 
the  clue  that  we  were  looking  for.  Restrain 
ing  my  eagerness  as  much  as  possible,  I  ad 
dressed  the  fellow  who  had  just  spoken: 

"  '  "Well,  mate,  I  don't  like  to  intrude  into 
your  conversation,  but  I  've  also  been  a  farmer 
all  my  life,  and  I  don't  see  anything  so  queer  in 
the  actions  of  this  French  farmer." 

; 

"  'He  answered,  "Well,  blime  me,  there 
might  be  a  reason  for  this  blighter  doing  this, 


226     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

but  I  can't  figure  it  out  at  all.     If  you  can  ex 
plain  it,  go  ahead." 

'  'I  answered,  "Well,  perhaps  if  you  can 
give  a  little  more  details  about  it,  it  would  be 
easy  enough  to  explain.  Who  is  this  farmer, 
and  where  is  his  farm  located?" 

'  'He  swallowed  the  bait  all  right,  and  in 
formed  me  that  the  farmer  was  plowing  a  field 
on  a  hill  about  five  hundred  yards  west  of  the 
church  at  the  point  where  our  troops  were  being 
shelled. 

"  'Buying  a  round  of  drinks,  I  nudged  my 
partner  and  he  came  in  on  the  conversation. 
The  two  of  us,  by  adroit  questioning,  got  the 
exact  location  of  the  field,  and  a  description  of 
the  farmer. 

"  'I  pretended  to  be  sleepy,  and,  yawning, 
got  up  from  the  table  saying  that  I  was  going 
to  turn  in,  and  left.  My  partner  soon  followed 
me.  Upon  reaching  our  billet  we  outlined  our 
plan.  We  decided  that  next  morning  we 
would  get  up  at  daybreak,  and  scout  around 
the  field  to  see  if  there  was  a  hiding-place. 


ROUNDING  UP  SPIES         227 

"  'Sure  enough,  along  one  edge  of  the  field 
ran  a  thick  hedge.  We  secreted  ourselves  in 
this,  and  waited  for  developments. 

"  'At  about  six  in  the  morning,  the  farmer 
appeared,  driving  two  greys,  which  he  hooked 
to  the  plow,  and  carried  on  with  his  work.  To 
us  there  appeared  nothing  suspicious  in  his 
actions.  We  watched  him  all  morning.  At 
noon  he  unhooked  the  horses  and  went  home. 
We  remained  in  hiding,  afraid  to  leave,  because 
we  wanted  to  take  no  chances  of  being  seen  by 
the  farmer.  We  had  forgotten  to  bring  ra 
tions  with  us,  so  it  was  a  miserable  wait  until 
two  o'clock,  at  which  time  the  farmer  reap 
peared,  driving  two  blacks,  which  he  hitched  to 
the  plow,  and  carried  on  until  four  o'clock,  and 
then  knocked  off  for  the  day.  That  night 
troops  came  through  as  usual,  and  were  shelled. 

"  'Next  morning,  at  daybreak,  we  again  took 
our  stations  in  the  hedge,  this  time  bringing 
rations  with  us.  The  farmer  used  the  same 
greys  in  the  morning,  but  in  the  afternoon  he 
appeared  with  a  black  and  a  grey,  and  again 


228     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

knocked  off  around  four  o'clock.  No  troops 
came  through  that  night,  and  there  was  no 
shelling. 

'  'Next  day,  the  fanner  repeated  the  pre 
vious  day's  actions, — two  greys  in  the  morning, 
and  a  black  and  a  grey  in  the  afternoon, — no 
troops,  no  shelling. 

'We  were  pretty  sure  that  we  had  him,  but 
this  arresting  a  spy  on  slim  evidence  is  a  ticklish 
matter.  We  did  n't  want  to  make  a  mess  of 
the  affair,  or  perhaps  send  an  innocent  man  to 
his  death,  so  the  following  day  we  again  took  up 
our  stations.  Sure  enough,  it  was  two  greys  in 
the  morning,  but  in  the  afternoon  he  used  two 
blacks.  That  night  troops  came  through  and 
were  shelled.  We  had  solved  the  problem. 
Two  greys  in  the  morning  meant  nothing. 
The  actual  signal  to  the  enemy  was  the  change 
of  horses  in  the  afternoon ;  two  blacks  meaning 
"troops  coming  through  tonight,  shell  the 
road";  a  grey  and  a  black,  "no  troops  expected, 
do  not  shell." 

"  'When  it  got  dark,  and  it  was  safe  to  leave 


ROUNDING  UP  SPIES         229 

the  hedge,  we  immediately  reported  the  whole 
affair  to  the  Town  Major  (an  English  officer 
detailed  in  charge  of  a  French  village  or  town 
occupied  by  English  troops),  who,  accom 
panied  by  us  and  a  detail  of  six  men  with  fixed 
bayonets,  went  to  the  farmer's  house  that  night 
and  arrested  him.  He  protested  his  innocence, 
but  we  took  him  to  Military  Police  Headquar 
ters,  where,  after  a  gruelling  questioning,  he 
confessed. 

"  'It  was  a  mystery  to  us  how  this  farmer 
knew  that  troops  were  coming  through,  because 
he  never  made  a  mistake  in  his  schedule. 
After  further  questioning,  he  explained  to  us 
that  if  we  searched  in  his  cellar  and  raised  up  an 
old  flag- stone  with  a  ring  in  it,  we  would  find  a 
telephone  set.  The  other  end  of  this  set  was 
established  in  an  estaminet  in  a  little  French 
village  eleven  kilos  distant.  His  confederate 
was  the  proprietor  of  this  estaminet,  which  was 
so  situated  on  the  road  that  troops  coming  into 
the  village  had  to  pass  the  door.  As  troops 
only  march  at  night  while  in  the  fire  sector,  his 


230     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

confederate  could  safely  figure  out  that  the 
passing  troops  would  be  quartered  in  his  village 
until  the  next  night,  when,  under  cover  of 
darkness,  they  would  start  for  the  next  village, 
and  would  have  to  pass  the  point  in  the  road  by 
the  old  church.  He  would  immediately  tele 
phone  this  information  to  the  farmer,  who 
would  change  his  horses  accordingly.  The  hill 
on  which  he  did  his  plowing  could  be  easily  ob 
served  from  an  observation  balloon  in  the  Ger 
man  lines,  and  thus  the  signal  was  given  to  the 
German  artillery. 

"  'We  still  carried  on  with  our  third  degree, 
and  got  further  valuable  information  from  him. 

'  'If,  in  the  plowing,  two  grey  horses  were 
used  on  two  consecutive  afternoons,  it  meant 
that  the  use  of  the  road  had  been  indefinitely 
discontinued  for  troops  and  supplies. 

"  'Under  a  strong  guard,  which  concealed 
itself  in  the  hedge,  the  farmer  was  made  to  use 
two  greys  for  two  afternoons.  The  scheme 
worked.  For  weeks  afterwards  that  road  was 
only  occasionally  shelled,  and  our  troops  and 


ROUNDING  UP  SPIES         231 

supply  trains  used  it  at  will.  The  spy  at  the 
other  end  was  rounded  up  and  both  were  taken 
to  the  base  and  shot. 

"  'We  reported  back  to  Old  Pepper,  expect 
ing  to  be  highly  commended  for  our  work,  and 
we  were — I  don't  think.  All  the  blooming 
blighter  said  was : 

"Well,  you  certainly  took  long  enough  to 
do  it.  I  have  a  damn  good  mind  to  send  you 
back  to  your  units  for  incompetency  and  inef 
ficiency." 

"  'We  saluted  and  left. 

'You  see,  we  didn't  deserve  any  great 
credit  because  it  was  only  through  a  lucky 
chance  that  we  stumbled  over  the  clue.  So  I 
guess  Old  Pepper  was  right  after  all.'" 

After  Curly  had  finished,  everyone  agreed 
with  Happy's  comment: 

"Pretty  nifty  work,  I  call  it,  pretty  nifty  1" 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE" 
As  TOLD  BY  YANK 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE" 

"  T  UST  lend  me  your  ear  and  I  '11  spin  you 
^J  a  yarn  about  a  trip  I  made  on  a  horse 
ship  back  in  1914,"  said  Yank,  as  he  took  a 
deep  breath  from  his  Woodbine  and  settled 
back  against  the  wall  of  the  dugout. 

"Well,  Yank,  let 's  have  the  story,"  chimed 
in  the  rest. 

"All  right,  heels  together  and  eyes  front. 
Here  goes,"  answered  Yank. 

"It  was  in  1914,  and  the  Great  World's 
War  was  on,  and  there  was  I,  in  the  United 
States  and — neutral.  For  thirteen  years  I  had 
been  soldiering  but  had  never  been  under  fire. 
In  my  imagination  I  could  hear  the  guns  boom 
ing  on  the  Western  Front.  I  admit  I  was  a 
trifle  afraid;  nevertheless,  I  had  a  great  de 
sire  to  get  into  the  mix-up.  How  could  I  get 

235 


236     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

over?  I  planned  out  many  ways,  but  not  one 
of  them  was  practical. 

"One  day,  while  walking  down  Greenwich 
Avenue,  New  York,  I  passed  an  employment 
agency.  Staring  me  in  the  face  was  a  great 
flaring  sign,  'Horses  for  France.'  Under  this 
was  'Men  Wanted.'  Here  was  my  chance. 

"Upon  returning  to  my  office  I  immediately 
got  in  touch,  over  the  telephone,  with  two 
prominent  men  in  New  York  who  I  knew 
were  distinctly  pro- Ally.  After  I  had  out 
lined  my  desire,  an  appointment  was  made  for 
me  to  meet  a  certain  gentleman  at  the  Hotel 
Astor  at  four  o'clock  that  afternoon.  I  met 
him.  He  was  a  Frenchman.  At  that  time,  in 
my  eyes,  a  Frenchman  was  a  hero,  a  man  to  be 
looked  up  to,  a  man  righting  in  the  Great 
Cause.  But  now  a  Frenchman  to  me  is  more 
than  a  hero.  After  being  introduced  I  went 
up  into  the  Frenchman's  room  and  talked  over 
the  matter  of  horses  for  France  for  about 
twenty  minutes. 

"Upon  leaving  the  Frenchman  I  was  told 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      237 

to  report  to  him  three  days  later,  at  the  same 
time  and  place.  I  left,  bubbling  over  with  en 
thusiasm  and  anticipation. 

"During  that  interval  of  three  days  I 
mapped  out  a  story  of  my  life  to  present  to  him 
upon  our  second  interview.  The  eventful  day 
at  last  came,  and  once  more  I  was  closeted  with 
him. 

"  I  started  in  to  tell  him  my  history.  He 
interrupted  me  by  waving  his  right  hand  to  the 
right  and  left.  It  reminded  me  of  the  'butts' 
on  a  target  range  during  rifle  practice,  when 
the  soldier  marking  the  target  wigwags  a  miss 
to  the  firing-line.  My  heart  sank.  Then  he 
spoke,  and  I  was  carried  from  despondency  to 
the  greatest  height  of  expectation.  He  said: 
'Pardon  me,  Monsieur,  I  already  know  your 
life,'  and  in  an  amazingly  short  time  he  told 
me  more  about  myself  than  I  ever  knew.  I 
had  been  carefully  investigated. 
*  "My  instructions  received  from  him  were 
confidential,  so  I  will  not  go  into  them.  Any 
way,  he  handed  me  an  envelope  and  told  me  to 


238     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

carefully  follow  all  instructions  as  contained 
therein. 

"I  immediately  went  back  to  my  office, 
opened  the  envelope  and  on  a  typewritten  sheet 
I  read:  'Report  at  Goldsmith's  Employment 

Agency,  No.  Greenwich  Street.  Ship 

as  an  ordinary  horseman  and  during  voyage 
carefully  follow  the  verbal  instructions  re 
ceived  by  you  during  our  interview,  making 
careful  note  of  all  details  immediately  after 
happening.  Be  cautious  in  doing  this.  Upon 
landing  in  France  report  to  the  Prefecture  of 
Police,  Bordeaux,  and  obey  his  instructions  to 
the  letter.  Good  luck.' 

"I  went  home  and  put  on  my  oldest  clothes ; 
an  old  blue  serge  suit,  an  olive  drab  shirt,  a 
heavy  pair  Of  army  shoes  and  a  woolen  cap. 
I  had  let  my  beard  grow  and  I  certainly  looked 
rough. 

"In  passing  through  City  Hall  Park,  New 
York,  one  sees  many  derelicts  of  the  human 
race  sitting  on  the  benches.  I  sat  down  be 
tween  two  of  these  wrecks  of  humanity  and 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      239 

engaged  them  in  conversation.  I  wanted  to 
blend  into  their  atmosphere.  About  ten  min 
utes  later  a  policeman  came  past  and  ordered 
the  three  of  us  to  move  on.  I  slouched  away 
with  the  other  two.  Telling  them  that  I  was 
going  out  'panhandling,'  I  took  my  leave,  but 
not  before  one  of  them  made  an  appealing  and 
successful  touch  for  a  nickel.  The  method 
used  by  him  in  securing  that  nickel  would 
have  done  credit  to  the  greatest  financiers  in 
the  country  in  putting  through  a  deal  involv 
ing  millions. 

"When  I  came  to  the  Agency,  there  was  a 
long  line  of  bums,  two  and  three  deep,  trying 
to  ship  as  horsemen  for  France. 

"It  would  be  impossible  to  get  a  rougher 
and  more  unkempt  gathering  of  men.  It 
looked  as  if  some  huge  giant  had  taken  a  fine 
comb  and  carefully  combed  the  gutters  of  New 
York. 

*  "I  fell  into  this  line  and  waited  my  turn. 
When  I  reached  the  desk,  in  front  of  me  sat 
a  little  fat,  greasy  Jew.  To  describe  his  man- 


240     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

ner  of  handling  the  men  as  being  impolite 
would  be  a  great  exaggeration.  The  way  he 
handled  that  line  of  human  cattle  would  have 
done  the  Kaiser's  heart  good. 

"It  came  my  turn,  and  this  conversation  en 
sued: 

"  'What  do  you  know  about  horses?' 

"I  answered:  'Six  years  in  the  U.  S. 
Cavalry.' 

"The  Agent:     'What  Regiments?' 

"  'Eleventh  and  Twelfth.' 

"  'You  're  a  liar.  You  never  saw  the  Cav 
alry.' 

"I  felt  like  punching  him  in  the  nose  but  did 
not  do  so.  I  wanted  to  ship  as  a  horseman. 
I  showed  him  my  discharges.  He  said: 
'They  're  faked.  What  did  you  do,  desert,  or 
were  you  kicked  out?' 

"I  was  getting  sore,  and  answered:  'De 
serted  the  Twelfth;  kicked  out  of  the  Eleventh.' 
'What 's  your  name  ?' 

"  'John  Smith.' 

"  'You  're  a  German.' 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      241 

"This  was  too  much  for  me,  and  I  answered: 
'You  're  a  damned  liar.'  I  saw  my  chances  of 
shipping  vanishing  in  smoke. 

"The  Jew  grinned  and  rubbed  his  hands,  and 
said :  'You  're  all  right.  Go  into  that  room 
and  get  a  card  made  out,  and  come  back  at 
two  o'clock/ 

"I  received  a  card  and  went  to  a  beanery 
across  the  street  and  had  a  wonderful  meal  of 
corned  beef  hash,  muddy  coffee  and  huge  slices 
of  bread,  minus  butter.  This  cost  me  fifteen 
cents. 

"At  two  o'clock  I  reported  back,  and  with 
seventy-two  others,  herded  like  cattle,  in  a 
long,  straggling  line,  flanked  by  three  of  the 
employes  of  the  Agency,  we  marched  to  the 
Ferry  and  landed  'somewhere  in  New  Jersey.' 

"The  ship,  a  huge  three-stacker,  was  lying 
alongside.  We  were  put  into  single  file,  ready 
to  go  up  the  gangplank.  Then  our  real  ex- 
|tmination  took  place.  At  the  foot  of  the  gang 
plank  were  a  group  of  men  around  a  long  table. 
They  certainly  put  us  through  a  third  degree  to 


242     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

find  out  if  there  was  any  German  blood  in  us. 
Several  men  were  turned  down.  I  success 
fully  passed  the  ordeal,  was  signed  up  for  the 
voyage,  and  went  aboard. 

"At  the  head  of  the  gangplank  stood  the 
toughest  specimen  of  humanity  I  have  ever 
seen.  He  looked  like  a  huge  gorilla,  and  had 
a  big,  crescent-shaped,  livid  scar  running  from 
his  left  ear  under  his  chin  up  to  his  right  eye. 
Every  time  he  spoke  the  edges  of  the  scar  grew 
white.  His  nose  was  broken  and  he  had  huge, 
shaggy  eyebrows.  His  hand  was  resting  on 
the  rail  of  the  ship.  It  looked  like  a  ham,  and 
inwardly  I  figured  out  what  would  happen  to 
me  if  that  hamlike  fist  ever  came  in  contact 
with  the  point  of  my  jaw.  As  we  passed  him 
he  showered  us  with  a  few  complimentary  re 
marks,  such  as  'Of  all  the  lousy  scum  I  have 
seen,  this  bunch  of  lubbers  is  the  worst,  and 
this  is  what  they  give  me  to  take  thirteen  hun 
dred  horses  over  to  Bordeaux.'  Later  on  I 
found  this  individual  was  the  chief  foreman  of 
the  horse  gang. 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      243 

"We  were  ordered  aft  and  sat  on  the  hatch. 
The  fellow  on  my  right  was  a  huge,  blue- 
gummed  negro.  He  was  continually  scratch 
ing  himself.  I  unconsciously  eased  away  from 
him  and  bumped  into  the  fellow  sitting  on  my 
left.  After  a  good  look  at  him  I  eased  back 
again  in  the  direction  of  the  negro.  I  don't 
think  that  he  had  taken  a  bath  since  escaping 
from  the  cradle.  Right  then  my  uppermost 
thought  was  how  I  could  duck  this  trip  to 
France.  The  general  conversation  among  the 
horse  gang  was :  'When  do  we  eat  ?' 

"We  must  have  sat  there  about  twenty  min 
utes  when  the  second  foreman  came  aft.  I 
took  fifteen  guesses  at  his  nationality,  and  at 
last  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  a  cross 
between  a  Chinaman  and  a  Mexican.  He  was 
thin,  about  six  feet  tall,  and  wore  a  huge 
sombrero.  His  skin  was  tanned  the  color  of 
leather.  Every  time  he  smiled  I  had  the  im 
pression  that  the  next  minute  he  would  plant 
a  stiletto  in  my  back.  His  name  was  Pinero. 
His  introduction  to  us  was  very  brief:  'Get 


244     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

up  off  of  that hatch  and  line  up 

against  the  rail.'  We  did  as  ordered.  Then 
he  commanded:  'All  the  niggers  line  up 
alongside  of  the  port  rail.'  I  guess  a  lot  of 
them  did  not  know  what  he  meant  by  the  'port 
rail'  because  they  looked  very  much  bewildered. 

With  an  oath  he  snapped  out:     "You  

idiots!     The  port  rail  is  that  rail  over 

there.  Come  on!  Move  or  I  '11  soon  move 
you.'  He  looked  well  able  to  do  this  and  the 
niggers  quickly  shuffled  over  to  the  place  desig 
nated.  He  quickly  divided  us  into  squads  of 
twelve  men,  then  ordered :  'All  of  you  who  are 
deserters  from  the  Army  and  who  have  seen 
service  in  the  Cavalry,  step  to  the  front.' 
Four  others  besides  myself  stepped  out.  The 
first  man  he  came  to  he  informed :  'You  're 
a  straw  boss.  Do  you  know  what  a  straw 
boss  is?'  This  man  meekly  answered,  'No, 
sir.'  With  another  oath,  the  second  foreman 
said:  'All  right,  you  're  not  a  straw  boss; 
fall  back.'  I  got  the  cue  immediately.  My 
turn  came  next. 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      245 

"  'Do  you  know  what  a  straw  boss  is?' 

"I  said:     'Sure.' 

"He  said:     'All  right,  you  're  a  straw  boss.' 

"I  had  not  the  least  idea  of  what  he  was 
talking  about,  but  made  up  my  mind  that  it 
would  not  take  me  long  to  find  out.  Then  he 
passed  down  the  line,  picking  out  straw  bosses. 
I  asked  one  of  the  men  in  my  gang  what  were 
the  duties  of  a  straw  boss.  He  had  been  over 
with  horses  before,  and  told  me  that  a  straw 
boss  meant  being  in  charge  of  the  gang  to  feed 
the  horses  and  that  he  had  to  draw  and  keep 
careful  check  of  the  straw,  hay,  oats  and  bran. 
As  I  had  served  in  the  Cavalry,  this1  job,  as  I 
figured,  would  be  regular  pie  for  me. 

"In  about  an  hour  and  a  half's  time  Pinero 
had  selected  his  straw  bosses  and  divided  the 
men  into  gangs,  and  assigned  us  to  our  quarters 
on  the  ship.  These  quarters  were  between 
decks  and  very  much  crowded,  and  the  stench 
was  awful.  Iron  bunks,  three  deep,  with  filthy 
and  lousy  mattresses  on  them,  were  set  into  the 
sides  of  the  ship.  The  atmosphere  in  that  dirty 


246     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

hole  turned  my  stomach  and  I  was  longing 
for  the  fresh  air  of  the  deck.  A  dirty  bum, 
with  tobacco  juice  running  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  mouth,  turned  to  me  and  asked:  'Do 
the  gray-backs  bother  you  much,  matey?'  A 
shudder  ran  through  me  as  I  answered :  'Not 
much.'  I  figured  out  that  as  soon  as  I  got 
them,  as  I  knew  in  a  very  short  time  I  should, 
they  certainly  would  bother  me,  but  I  had  to 
keep  a  stiff  upper  lip  if  I  wanted  to  retain  their 
respect  and  my  authority  as  straw  boss.  Yes, 
'gray-backs'  are  cooties. 

"One  fellow  in  my  gang  was  a  trouble-maker. 
He  must  have  been  about  forty  years  old  and 
looked  as  hard  as  nails.  He  was  having  an 
argument  with  a  pasty-faced  looking  speci 
men  of  humanity,  about  twenty-six  years  old. 
To  me  this  man  appeared  to  be  in  the  last 
stages  of  consumption.  I  told  the  old  fellow 
to  cut  out  his  argument  and  leave  the  other  fel 
low  alone.  Upon  hearing  this  he  squirted  a 
well-directed  stream  of  tobacco  juice  through 
his  front  teeth,  which  landed  on  my  shoe.  I  in- 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      247 

wardly  admired  and  respected  his  accuracy. 
I  saw  my  authority  waning  and  knew  that  I 
would  have  to  answer  this  insult  quickly.  I 
took  two  or  three  quick  steps  forward  and 
swung  on  his  jaw  with  my  fist.  His  head  went 
up  against  the  iron  bunk  with  a  sickening 
sound  and  he  crumpled  up  and  fell  on  the  deck, 
the  blood  pouring  from  a  cut  in  his  head.  I 
felt  sick  and  faint,  thinking  that  he  had  been 
killed,  but  it  would  not  do  outwardly  to  show 
these  signs  of  weakness  on  my  part,  so  with 
out  even  moving  near  him  I  ordered  one  of  the 
men  to  look  him  over  and  see  if  he  was  all  right. 
He  soon  came  around.  From  that  time  on  he 
was  the  most  faithful  man  in  the  section  and 
greatly  respected  me.  The  rest  of  the  men 
growled  and  mumbled  and  I  thought  I  was 
in  for  a  terrible  beating.  Lying  close  at  hand 
was  an  iron  spike  about  18  inches  long. 
«  Grasping  this,  I  turned  to  the  rest,  trying  to 
be  as  tough  as  I  possibly  could : 

"  'If  any  of  the  rest  of  you  bums  thinks  he  's 
boss  around  here,  start  something,  and  I  will 


248     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

sink  this  into  his  head.'  Although  I  was  quail 
ing  underneath,  still  I  got  away  with  it,  and 
from  that  time  on  I  was  boss  of  my  section. 

"Every  man  was  smoking  or  chewing 
tobacco.  Pretty  soon  the  hold  became  thick 
with  smoke,  and  I  was  gasping  for  breath,  when 
the  voice  of  the  foreman  came  down  the  com- 
panionway : 

'Turn  out  on  deck  and  give  a  hand  load 
ing  the  horses.     Look  alive  or  I  '11  come  down 

there  and  rouse  you  out  pretty  

quick.' 

"We  needed  no  second  invitation  and  lined 
up  on  the  deck.  I  looked  over  the  rail.  On 
the  dock  were  hundreds  of  the  sorriest  looking 
specimens  of  horse-flesh  I  ever  laid  eyes  on. 
These  horses  were  in  groups  of  ten  or  twelve, 
being  held  by  horsemen  from  the  New  Jersey 
Stockyards.  A  lot  of  the  men  who  had 
shipped  as  horsemen  had  never  led  a  horse  in 
their  lives,  and  it  was  pitiful  to  see  their  fear. 

"The  foreman  let  out  a  volley  of  oaths  for 
them  to  move  quickly,  and  they  decided  to  ac- 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      249 

cept  the  lesser  evil  and  take  a  chance  with  the 
horses. 

"Then  the  work  of  loading  commenced. 

"I  have  been  in  a  Cavalry  Regiment  when 
hurry-up  orders  were  received  to  entrain  for 
the  Mexican  Border  and  helped  to  load  eleven 
hundred  horses  on  trains.  But  the  confusion 
on  that  dock  was  indescribable.  The  horses 
were  loaded  by  three  runways.  My  gang  was 
detailed  on  the  after  one.  The  foreman  was 
leaning  over  the  rail,  glaring  down  upon  us 
and  now  and  then  giving  instructions  mixed 
with  horrible  oaths.  He  had  a  huge  marlin 
spike  in  his  hand.  On  the  dock  was  the  sec 
ond  foreman,  in  his  large  sombrero,  a  red  hand 
kerchief  around  his  neck,  wearing  a  blue  shirt 
with  the  sleeves  rolled  up  to  the  elbow,  and 
carrying  in  his  right  hand  a  coiled  lariat.  It 
did  one's  heart  good  to  see  him  rope  the  horses 
Wihich  broke  loose.  Watching  his  first  per 
formance,  I  knew  I  had  been  right  in  thinking 
he  had  Mexican  blood  in  his  veins. 

"A  bleary-eyed  drunk  was  trying  to  lead  a 


250     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

horse  by  the  halter  up  our  run.  He  was  look 
ing  back  at  the  horse,  at  the  same  time  tugging 
and  jerking  on  the  halter.  You  could  see  the 
white  in  the  horse's  eyes,  and  I  knew  right 
away,  from  my  experience  with  horses,  that  this 
was  a  bad  one,  an  "outlaw,"  as  we  would  term 
him  in  the  Cavalry.  The  drunk  was  cursing 
and  swearing  and  kicking  up  at  the  horse's 
head.  The  foreman  saw  this  and  directed  his 
barrage  at  the  offender. 

"  'How  in  h do  you  expect  to  lead  a 

horse  while  you  're  looking  at  him?  Turn  your 
back  to  him,  you  lousy  bum.  You  are  block 
ing  the  whole  run.  Turn  your  back  to  him,  I 
say.  You  can't  lead  him  thataway.  If  I 
come  down  there,  I  '11  soon  show  you  how  to 
get  him  aboard.' 

"The  bleary-eyed  one  became  bewildered  and 
in  his  excitement  lost  his  footing  on  the  slip 
pery  runway  and  fell  underneath  the  horse, 
at  the  same  time  loosening  his  hold  on  the  halter 
chain.  The  horse  jerked  his  head  loose,  reared 
up,  turned  around  and  made  a  break  for  the 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      251 

dock.  The  man  on  the  gangway  tried  to 
scramble  out  of  the  way.  The  horse,  in  wheel 
ing,  let  fly  with  both  heels  and  caught  him  be 
low  the  right  ear  with  his  near  hind  foot.  With 
a  piercing  shriek  the  drunk  clasped  both  hands 
to  his  head,  fell  over  backward  and  rolled  to 
the  foot  of  the  gangplank,  where  he  lay  in  a 
crumpled  heap,  the  blood  pouring  from  his 
nose  and  mouth  and  the  wound  below  his  ear. 

"Hearing  this  shriek,  several  of  the  men 
leading  their  horses,  turned  them  loose  in  their 
fright,  and  there  was  a  mad  stampede  on  the 
dock. 

"The  pasty-faced  horseman,  whom  I  helped 
out  a  little  while  before  in  the  argument,  was 
standing  near  the  runway,  holding  on  to  a 
horse.  He  turned  his  horse  loose  and  rushed 
to  the  bloody  mass,  which  was  twitching  with 
convulsive  shudders.  The  foreman  snapped 
out  a  long  string  of  curses  that  almost  froze 
my  heart : 

"  'What  did  I  tell  you?  Didn't  I  tell  you 
not  to  look  at  him?  I  knew  you  would  get  it, 


252     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

and  a  damned  good  job,  too;  blocking  that  run 
with  your  fool  tricks.' 

"Then  he  noticed  the  pasty-faced  horseman 
stooping  over  the  victim  and  went  on: 

'  'Get  'im  by  the  heels,  you  cross  between  a 
corpse  and  a  mummy,  and  drag  him  out  of  the 
way.  We  bloody  well  got  to  get  this  ship 
loaded  to  catch  the  tide.' 

"The  pale-faced  man  kept  on  with  his  ex 
amination  without  paying  any  attention  to  the 
foreman's  instructions.  The  foreman  got  blue 
in  the  face  and  bubbled  over  with  rage. 

*  'Did  you  hear  what  I  tell  you?  Get  'im 
out  of  the  way  or  I  '11  go  down  there  and  pound 
some  obedience  into  you.  This  ship  's  got  to  be 
loaded.' 

"The  man  still  paid  no  attention.  The  fore 
man  was  speechless.  In  a  few  seconds  the 
stooping  man  straightened  up,  and  looking  the 
foreman  straight  in  the  eye,  calmly  replied: 
'He  's  dead.'  This  did  not  seem  to  faze  the 
foreman  in  the  least  and  he  bellowed  out: 
'How  do  you  know  he  is  dead  ?'  The  man  an- 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      253 

swered  simply:  'I'm  a  doctor.'  Then  the 
foreman  once  again  exploded:  'A  doctor! 
Blawst  my  deadlights,  a  doctor!  Well,  if 

you  're  a  doctor,  what  in  h are  you  doing 

on  a  horse  ship  ?  You  ought  to  be  rolling  pills 
for  the  highbrows.' 

"The  doctor  never  took  his  piercing  look 
from  the  eye  of  the  foreman.  The  foreman 
was  now  like  an  enraged  bull.  Spitting  all 
over  himself,  he  blustered  out :  'Well,  if  he  's 
dead,  there  is  no  doctor  that  can  do  him  any 
good.  A  couple  o'  you  black  skunks  over 
there,'  addressing  two  negroes  who  were  al 
most  blanched  to  a  bluish  white  and  who  were 
trembling  nearby,  'get  a-hold  of  him  and  drag 
'im  out  of  the  way.'  One  of  the  negroes,  with 
a  leering  grin,  replied:  'I  shipped  on  this  here 
ship  to  handle  bosses,  and  I  don't  allow  nohow 
that  it 's  my  work  to  tote  corpses  around.' 

"Just  then  the  second  foreman  rushed  over, 
gave  the  negro  a  push  out  of  the  way  and,  grab 
bing  the  heels  of  the  dead  man,  pulled  him 
away  from  the  run.  I  turned  away,  sickened 


254     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

with  disgust.  He  then  took  an  empty  oat- 
sack  and  spread  it  over  the  bloody  head. 

"Just  then  the  clanging  bell  of  an  ambulance 
was  heard  and  a  white-clothed  doctor,  followed 
by  two  men  with  a  stretcher,  pushed  their  way 
through  the  crowd  of  horses  and  horsemen. 
He  was  accompanied  by  a  policeman.  The 
body  was  put  into  the  ambulance  and  taken 
away,  while  the  police  officer  went  on  board 
the  ship. 

"The  pasty-faced  doctor  was  holding  onto 
the  rail  of  the  runway  and  coughing.  I 
thought  each  gasp  would  be  his  last.  The  sec 
ond  foreman  was  talking  to  him,  but  the  doctor 
paid  no  attention.  Then  the  second  foreman 
coolly  measured  his  distance  and  swung  on  the 
point  of  his  jaw.  The  doctor  crumpled  up 
and  fell  on  the  dock.  At  this  cowardly  and 
dastardly  act,  I  saw  red  and  made  a  leap  at 
the  foreman.  An  onrushing  light  flashed  in 
front  of  me  and  a  huge  locomotive,  going  sixty 
miles  an  hour,  hit  me  between  the  eyes;  then, 
blackness.  When  I  came  to,  I  was  lying  in 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"       255 

my  bunk  in  the  hold.  I  had  an  awful  head 
ache.  Then  everything  came  back  to  me  with 
a  flash.  I  could  hear  the  gurgling  of  water 
against  the  ship's  side  and  knew  we  were  under 
way.  Right  then  and  there  I  decided  never 
again,  especially  while  aboard  ship,  to  inter 
fere  with  a  foreman.  Among  that  gang  of 
human  wrecks  and  cutthroats  it  was  every  man 
for  himself,  and  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  I 
had  two  beautiful  black  eyes,  and  my  nose 
felt  like  a  football. 

"I  went  up  on  deck.  The  moon  and  stars 
were  out  and  the  twinkling  lights  of  New  York 
Harbor  were  gradually  fading  into  the  dis 
tance.  Leaning  over  the  rail  were  the  chief 
foreman  and  the  veterinarian,  'Doc'  Casey,  by 
name.  I  listened  to  their  conversation.  The 
chief  foreman  was  talking : 

"  'Load  horses?  Why,  that  bunch  of  scum 
that  they  wished  on  me  could  n't  load  lump 
sugar,  one  lump  at  a  time.  How  Brown  ex 
pects  me  to  deliver  1300  horses  into  Bordeaux 
with  this  scurvy  outfit,  I  don't  know.  We  're 


256     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

lucky,  I  'm  thinkin',  if  500  o'  them  don't  die. 
Why,  there  's  not  one  o'  the  blighters  knows 
which  end  of  a  horse  eats  hay.  I  tell  you,  Doc, 
your  work  is  cut  out  for  you.  If,  in  a  few 
days,  you  don't  have  a  couple  hundred  cases  of 
colic  on  your  hands,  then  I  'm  a  bloomin'  liar.' 
'  'Doc'  Casey  answered: 

"  'Well,  I  '11  tell  you,  Mr.  Goorty,  this  is 
my  third  trip  over  and  I  have  seen  some  tough 
bunches,  but  this  one  is  the  limit.  I  sure  ad 
mit  I  have  a  job  on  my  hands.  It 's  too  bad 
that  Pinero  let  out  on  that  young  fellow  from 
the  Cavalry,  because,  in  my  mind,  that  was  a 
pretty  cowardly  blow.  He  seemed  to  know 
how  to  handle  horses.  What  do  you  say  if  I 
give  him  the  job  of  Assistant  Veterinarian? 
He  's  had  six  years'  cavalry  experience.' 

"The  foreman  answered: 
1  'Throw  him  over  the  side,  if  you  want — I 
don't  give  a  damn.     But  I  guess  you  '11  need 
someone  to  help  you  out,  so  go  to  it.' 

"I  was  overjoyed.  Just  then  Pinero  came 
aft.  The  horse  doctor  turned  to  him  and  said: 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      257 

'Look  here,  Pinero,  I  Ve  seen  lots  of  dirty 
work  in  my  life,  but  that  exhibition  of  yours 
on  the  dock  is  about  the  filthiest  I  Ve  seen  in 
a  long  time.  Now,  just  take  a  tip  from  me. 
That  young  fellow,  Smith,  out  of  the  Cavalry, 
from  now  on  is  working  for  me,  and  you  lay 
your  hands  off  of  him.  If  I  find  you  meddling 
with  him,  I  '11  push  that  silly  grin  of  yours 
down  your  throat,  until  it  chokes  you.  Now 
that 's  all  I  got  to  say,  lay  off  of  him.  Do 
you  understand?' 

"Pinero  started  to  mumble  excuses,  but  the 
Doctor  shut  him  up  with  'I  don't  want  to  hear 
any  more.  I  'm  off  o'  you  for  life,  but  re 
member  what  I  tell  you.  Steer  clear  from 
the  two  o'  us,  sabe?' 

"I  guess  the  second  foreman  sabied  all  right, 
because  he  vouchsafed  no  answer.  My  heart 
warmed  to  'Doc'  Casey  and  I  slipped  away  un 
observed. 

"The  next  morning  the  Doctor  fixed  me  up 
with  court  plaster  and  I  was  installed  as  As 
sistant  Veterinarian  at  $30.00  for  the  trip. 


258     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

I  was  to  sleep  in  'Doc'  Casey's  stateroom,  where 
he  had  his  medicine  stock,  but  before  entering 
the  room  'Doc'  said  to  me:  'Take  this  bucket 
of  water;  put  a  few  drops  of  creosote  in  it, 
and  go  aft  on  the  hatch  and  take  a  good  bath, 
and  throw  your  underwear  away.' 

"I  asked  him  his  reason.  He  answered: 
'When  you  take  your  shirt  off,  take  a  good 
look  at  it  and  you  '11  see  why.' 

I  began  to  feel  itchy  all  over  but  minutely 
followed  his  instructions. 

"I  took  my  shirt  off.  One  look  was  enough. 
It  was  alive,  and  over  the  rail  it  went.  'Doc' 
loaned  me  a  white  suit  and  took  charge  of  my 
outer  clothing.  What  he  did  with  them  I  don't 
know,  but  that  afternoon  he  returned  them  to 
me.  They  were  shrunk  a  size  smaller,  but  they 
were  clean. 

"Five  days  out  we  ran  into  a  squall  and  our 
work  was  cut  out  for  us.  We  were  greatly 
overloaded  and  had  to  put  horses  on  the  decks 
in  wooden  stalls.  The  ship  was  lurching  and 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      259 

pitching,  and  huge  seas  were  belching  over 
the  gunwales 

"Several  of  the  wooden  stalls  gave  way  and 
the  horses  got  loose  on  the  deck.  With  every 
lurch  of  the  ship  horses  went  down,  kicking  and 
snorting,  and  slid  over  the  inclined  deck,  hit 
ting  against  winches  and  hatchways,  scraping 
their  hide  off.  It  was  worth  a  man's  life  to 
get  into  that  mess. 

"I  had  to  respect  the  foreman  and  second 
foreman  more  or  less  then.  Into  the  midst  of 
that  struggling  and  kicking  bunch  of  horses 
they  went,  'Doc'  Casey  with  them.  Four  of 
the  horses  had  broken  legs,  and  Pinero,  instead 
of  shooting  them,  cut  their  throats  with  a 
sharp  dagger  which  he  carried. 

"One  of  the  negroes  from  the  lower  hold 
staggered  to  the  upper  deck,  his  face  blanched 
almost  white,  his  eyes  popping  from  his  head. 
Between  gasps  he  informed  us  that  a  whole 
section  of  stalls,  twenty-four  in  all,  had  been 
carried  away  between  decks,  and  that  the  horses 


260     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

were  loose.  He  said  three  negroes  of  his  gang 
were  caught  in  this  stampede. 

"The  foreman  mustered  most  of  the  men, 
dividing  them  into  three  groups,  in  charge  of 
himself,  the  second  foreman  and  'Doc'  Casey. 
They  went  below.  I  followed. 

"It  was  hell.  The  ship  was  pitching  and 
lurching  in  a  horrible  manner.  All  I  could 
see  was  a  pile  of  kicking  horses,  smashed  up 
planks,  and  the  three  negroes  piled  up  in  one 
corner.  As  the  ship  rolled  they  slid  from  side 
to  side.  There  was  nothing  we  could  do.  It 
was  madness  to  attempt  anything.  The  three 
negroes  were  dead,  their  bodies  terribly  muti 
lated  from  the  hoofs  of  the  horses. 

"That  night  and  the  following  day  the  ship 
rode  the  squall.  Then  it  became  calm  and  we 
all  got  busy.  Of  the  twenty-four  loose  horses 
below,  we  had  to  shoot  seventeen  on  account  of 
injuries.  Three  others  had  died  from  broken 
necks.  The  four  remaining  horses  were  still 
alive  but  hardly  had  a  square  foot  of  hide  left 
on  them.  I  sure  pitied  them. 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      261 

"The  next  day  the  three  negroes  were  buried 
at  sea  without  a  word  of  prayer. 

"About  four  days  out  of  Bordeaux  one  of 
the  large  steam  pipes  in  the  lower  hold  burst. 
In  this  hold  there  were  sixty-four  horses.  The 
engineer  of  the  ship  tried  to  repair  the  break, 
but  it  was  almost  worth  a  man's  life  to  go  down 
there  in  that  hissing  and  scalding  steam.  The 
cries  of  the  horses  went  straight  to  my  heart. 
There  they  were,  their  bellies  heaving,  their 
nostrils  red,  inflamed,  distended,  gasping  for 
breath,  their  feet  spread  apart  and  braced  to 
keep  them  from  falling.  There  would  be  a 
trembling  of  the  legs,  a  few  spasmodic  attempts 
to  retain  their  balance,  as  their  bodies  sank 
lower  and  lower,  and  this  would  be  followed  by 
a  convulsive  shiver  as  down  they  went  with  a 
crash  to  die  on  the  deck.  All  we  could  do 
was  to  turn  streams  of  cold  salt  water  into 
the  hold,  thus  trying  to  keep  the  heat  down  and 
save  as  many  horses  as  possible.. 

"Why  the  engineer  did  not  immediately  shut 
off  the  steam,  I  don't  know.  I  noted  this  fact 


262     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

in  my  report.  It  was  four  hours  before  he 
did  so;  then  the  two  foremen,  'Doc'  Casey  and 
myself,  followed  by  twelve  other  men,  went  into 
the  hold.  I  shall  never  forget  the  sight  as  long 
as  I  live.  Nearly  every  one  of  the  horses  was 
dead,  and  those  that  were  still  breathing  had 
to  be  shot.  Some  of  them  were  practically 
boiled  alive.  The  weather  was  -hot  and  it  was 
not  long  before  the  rotting  bodies  made  the 
stench  on  board  unbearable.  We  had  to  get 
those  bodies  out.  Long  tackles  were  rigged 
up,  and  a  chain  was  put  around  the  necks  of 
the  horses.  I  worked  the  winch.  The  bodies 
were  snaked  along  the  passageways  in  the  hold 
and  up  to  the  hatch.  Some  of  the  bodies  would 
not  hang  together,  and  it  was  a  common  sight 
to  see  a  dead  horse  suspended  in  the  air,  either 
by  his  neck  or  hind  leg,  drop  suddenly  into  the 
hold  below,  leaving  his  head  or  his  leg  hanging 
to  the  tackle. 

"Every  horse  sent  to  France  is  branded  with 
a  different  brand.  They  have  a  system  of  in 
dexing  them.  As  each  dead  horse  was  snaked 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      263 

to  the  upper  deck,  'Doc'  had  to  stoop  over  and 
make  a  note  of  the  brand  before  the  horse  was 
thrown  overboard. 

"As  the  dead  horses  were  dropped  over  the 
side,  a  resounding  splash  was  heard  and  the 
water  was  churned  into  a  foamy  white  as  the 
body  momentarily  sank  from  view.  Then  it 
would  reappear  and  disappear  in  the  wake  of 
the  ship,  the  sea  gulls  hovering  and  screaming 
above  it. 

"Just  outside  the  entrance  of  the  river  lead 
ing  to  Bordeaux,  a  small,  rakish  boat,  flying  the 
tri-color  of  France,  came  alongside.  We  hove 
to  and  up  the  gangplank  came  three  French 
officers.  They  were  closeted  for  about  twenty 
minutes  with  the  Captain  of  the  ship  and  our 
foreman.  Then  we  continued  on  our  course. 
In  some  places  the  banks  of  the  river  were  only 
about  twenty  feet  away.  We  could  see  the 
French  women  tilling  their  fields  and  as  we 
went  by  these  workers  stopped  and  waved  their 
hands  in  the  air  to  us,  and  we  waved  back. 
It  was  my  first  sight  of  France,  and  I  was 


264     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

not  in  any  way  disappointed.     It  lived  up  to 
my  expectations. 

"A  little  farther  up  the  river  we  came  to  a 
large  dock  where  ships  were  loading  and  dis 
charging  cargoes,  and  a  thrill  passed  through 
me  as  I  saw  my  first  batch  of  German  prison 
ers  at  work.  They  were  immense  fellows, 
nearly  every  one  being  six  feet  or  over,  and 
they  were  guarded  by  little  French  soldiers, 
averaging  about  five  feet  five  inches,  with  long 
rifles  and  fixed  bayonets.  As  we  passed,  the 
German  prisoners  scowled  at  us,  and  we,  feel 
ing  quite  safe  on  the  deck,  yelled  back  insults 
at  them.  One  big  Irishman,  right  near  me, 
took  great  glee  in  jumping  up  and  down  on 
the  hatchway  and  running  his  finger  across  his 
throat.  This  seemed  to  enrage  the  prisoners 
and  they  yelled  something  in  German.  The 
Irishman  must  have  understood  it,  for  he  let 
out  a  volley  of  curses  in  return.  The  French 
sentry  seemed  to  enjoy  this  barrage  of  in 
sults  and  did  not  in  any  way  attempt  to  cur 
tail  the  prisoners'  remarks. 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      265 

"Pretty  soon  the  prisoners  faded  out  of 
sight  and  we  came  alongside  the  dock  at  Bor 
deaux.  I  was  all  eagerness  and  strained  my 
eyes  so  as  not  to  miss  the  least  thing.  The 
dock  was  full  of  French  Cavalrymen,  hurrying 
to  and  fro.  Huge  Turcos,  black  as  the  ace  of 
spades,  with  white  turbans  on  their  heads,  were 
majestically  striding  about. 

"After  we  warped  into  the  dock  and  made 
fast,  our  work  was  over.  We  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  unloading  of  the  horses.  The 
French  Cavalrymen  came  on  board  with  a 
bunch  of  Cavalry  halters  hanging  over  their 
arms.  It  was  a  marvel  to  see  with  what  ease 
and  efficiency  that  ship  was  unloaded.  The 
condition  of  the  horses  was  pitiful.  They 
could  hardly  bend  their  legs  from  stiffness. 
They  hobbled  down  the  gangplank  and  stood 
trembling  on  the  dock,  stretching  out  their 
necks  and  taking  long  breaths  of  the  pure  air. 
Then  they  started  to  whinny,  calling  backward 
and  forward  to  each  other.  Even  though  I 
did  not  understand  horse  language,  I  knew  ex- 


266     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

actly  what  they  were  saying.  They  were 
thanking  their  horse  God  for  their  deliverance 
from  that  hell  ship,  and  were  looking  forward 
to  green  pastures  and  a  good  roll  in  the  dirt. 
Pretty  soon  you  could  see  them  bend  their 
forelegs  and  lie  down  on  the  dock,  and  then  try 
to  roll  over.  Some  of  them  did  not  have  the 
strength  for  this  and  only  feebly  kicked. 
Pretty  soon  the  whole  dock  was  a  mass  of 
rolling  horses,  the  Frenchmen  jumping  around, 
gesticulating  and  jabbering. 

"After  getting  the  horses  up,  the  Frenchmen 
divided  them  into  classes  according  to  their 
height  and  weight.  Then  each  horse  was  led 
into  a  ring  chalked  out  on  the  dock  and  the 
army  inspectors  examined  it.  Very  few  were 
rejected.  From  this  ring  of  chalk  the  horse 
was  led  into  a  portable  stall  and  branded. 
You  could  hear  the  sing-song  voice  of  the 
brander  shouting  out  what  sounded  like  'Bat- 
try  Loo.'  As  he  yelled  this,  a  French  private 
came  over,  got  the  horse  which  had  been 
branded,  and  led  it  away.  An  interpreter  I 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      267 

was  talking  to  informed  me  that  the  average 
life  of  a  horse  in  the  French  Army  was  three 
days.  These  poor  beasts  had  only  left  that 
hell  ship  to  go  into  the  worse  Hell  of  burst 
ing  shells  and  cracking  bullets. 

"I,  after  passing  a  rigid  examination  as  to 
my  nationality,  and  being  issued  a  cattleman's 
passport,  inquired  my  way  to  the  Prefect  of 
Police.  I  delivered  to  him  the  sealed  envelope 
which  I  had  received  in  New  York.  Upon 
opening  it,  he  was  very  gracious  to  me  and 

directed  me  into  a  rear  room,  where  an  inter- 

« 

preter  put  me  through  a  grilling  examination. 
From  there  I  was  taken  to  a  hotel,  and  the  next 
morning,  in  the  company  of  a  Sergeant  and  a 
Private,  got  into  a  little  matchbox  compart 
ment  on  the  funniest  looking  train  I  ever  saw. 
The  track  seemed  about  three  feet  wide,  and 
the  wheels  of  the  cars  like  huge  cogwheels  on  an 
engine,  minus  the  cogs.  After  bumping,  stop 
ping,  and  sometimes  sliding  backwards  for 
twenty-six  hours,  we  reached  a  little  town. 
Supplies  were  piled  up  there  as  high  as  houses. 


268     TALES  FROM  A  DUGOUT 

Officers  and  enlisted  men  were  hurrying  to  and 
fro,  and  I  could  see  long  trains  of  supply 
wagons  and  artillery  limbers  always  moving  in 
the  same  direction,  to  the  front. 

"  I  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  a  French 
officer,  who,  I  later  found  out,  was  a  Brigadier- 
General  of  the  Quartermaster  Corps.  I  could 
hear  a  distant  booming;  they  told  me  it  was 
the  guns  of  France,  striving  to  hold  back  the 
German  invaders.  I  trembled  all  over  with 
excitement,  and  a  feeling  that  I  cannot  describe 
rushed  over  me.  I  was  listening  to  my  first 
sound  of  the  guns  on  the  Western  Front. 

"Two  days  afterward  I  returned  to  Bor 
deaux,  and  shipped  to  New  York  on  the  French 
Liner  Rochambeau.  When  I  arrived  in  New 
York  I  reported  to  the  Frenchman  who  had 
sent  me  over.  He  was  very  courteous  and,  as 
I  reached  out  to  shake  hands  with  him,  he 
placed  both  hands  on  my  shoulders  and  kissed 
me  on  the  right  and  left  cheek.  I  was  dum- 
founded  and  blushed  all  over.  I  think  I  could 
have  borne  another  trip  across  with  horses,  but 


"HORSES  FOR  FRANCE"      269 

that  being  kissed  upon  my  return  completely 
got  my  goat. 

"I  went  back  to  the  routine  of  my  office,  but 
everything  had  lost  color  and  seemed  monoto 
nous.  I  believe  I  had  left  my  heart  in  France, 
and  I  felt  mean  and  small  over  there,  eating 
three  squares  a  day  and  sleeping  on  a  soft  bed, 
when  the  armies  on  the  other  side  were  making 
the  world's  history. 

"Several  times  later  I  passed  that  sign  on 
Greenwich  Street,  'Horses  for  France,  Men 
Wanted,'  and  the  pictures  of  the  second  fore 
man  dropping  the  pasty-faced  doctor  would 
loom  before  my  eyes.  I  do  not  know  to  this 
day  what  became  of  that  nervy  wreck  of  hu 
manity,  who  had  the  temerity  to  tell  our  fore 
man  where  he  got  off  at. 

"So,  Sailor  Bill,  old  scout,  how  about  that 
for  a  'passage,'  "  concluded  Yank. 

Sailor  Bill  did  not  answer. 

Curly  butted  in:  "Me  for  the  trenches  ev 
ery  time." 

The  rest  agreed  with  Curly.  So  did  Yank, 
THE 


A    000  127  106     3 


